Ethan Lloyd and The Talisman of Table Mountain
by Eustace Scrubb
Summary: Complete: A Midwestern boy discovers that he is a wizard during the summer after Goblet of Fire & heads off to Kaaterskill Academy of Magic & a part in the great battle between good and evil in the Wizarding World. More in profile.
1. An Unexpected Visit

_Ethan Lloyd _

_and _

_the Talisman _

_of Table Mountain_

"_Numquam Fidete Equite _

_Capite Carens"_

_Chapter One: An Unexpected Visit_

_(July 1984, Madison, Wisconsin)_

Griffin and Diana Lloyd, of number twelve, Jenifer Street, were the proud parents of a new-born boy. A string of blue balloons festooned the front porch of their bungalow along the banks of the Yahara River on a warm evening in late July. Diana's doctor had pronounced the baby to be "perfectly normal": eight pounds, nineteen inches long with blue eyes and a straggle of blonde hair on the top of his head. The boy's parents named him Ethan. When the new family came home, their neighbors trooped over to welcome Ethan to the neighborhood, bearing enough casseroles, cookies and salads to sustain Griffin and Diana for at least a week. Even Mungo, the Lloyds' three-year old cat, seemed pleased with the new arrival: after sniffing the baby carrier and its occupant, he settled into the armchair in the baby's room, purring contentedly.

Griffin Lloyd worked as a reference librarian in the art library at the state university across town. In his mid-twenties, he was lanky, with untidy blonde hair and a sharply-pointed chin. Most people found his intense green eyes striking. Diana was short but trim, with wavy, dark hair and deep blue eyes. She worked a few blocks away at the local grocery coop, where she managed the refrigerated and dairy section with energy and enthusiasm. In the eclectic (a word here meaning "made up of a variety of sorts and conditions of people") atmosphere of Madison, Ethan's parents also appeared "normal," if not perfectly so. And that was exactly the way they hoped to appear to their neighbors, colleagues and fellow citizens.

The Lloyds lived a quiet but comfortable life in their bungalow, but they also had a secret, and their greatest fear was that someone would discover it. For Griffin and Diana were not what they appeared to be; terrible things had happened in their past, not so long ago. As they tried, and mostly succeeded, at blending in with their neighbors, they always worried that some day, in the most unexpected way, someone from that past would find them.

But on this pleasant summer evening, after the neighbors had drifted back to their homes, Griffin and Diana were entirely occupied with little Ethan. There was no reason for them to believe that strange news abroad in the world would soon reach their doorstep and awaken their fears. Diana had just finished nursing little Ethan and Griffin had prepared the baby's crib; they gently laid him down and Diana sang a quiet lullaby. Ethan was soon sound asleep.

"I can't believe that was so easy," whispered Griffin, as Diana switched off the light in the baby's room.

"Beginner's luck, I'm sure," Diana replied as they sat down on the little couch in the living room.

There was a loud crack from somewhere outside. Griffin stood up quickly and stared out the window into the darkness. A second crack followed.

"Leftover fireworks?" asked Diana, a hint of apprehension in her voice.

"Maybe, or perhaps a car backfiring," answered Griffin, but he didn't sound convinced.

The Lloyds noticed that Mungo had come running out of the baby's room and was now moving around the room warily.

"Mungo seems to think there's something more to it than that," said Diana.

"I think we'd better play it safe," her husband said, as he withdrew a wooden stick about a foot long from his pocket. Diana pulled a similar object out of her apron. Mungo was now standing staring at the front door; his hair had begun to stand on end.

After what seemed an eternity to the new parents, the doorbell rang. They looked at each other, each trying to stifle a rising sense of panic.

"Let's try to keep the wands ready but out of sight," whispered Griffin. "You go stand at Ethan's door."

As Diana moved back to the nursery, Griffin went to the door and slowly opened it. There in the circle of light on the steps stood a heavy-set older man with long dark hair, wearing a robe of shimmering purple. At his side was a woman, with curly gray hair, and an emerald cloak. Griffin's jaw dropped and he stood silent for a moment.

"Uncle Bertrand? Aunt Eilonwy?"

"None other," replied the man. "Now, are you going to stand there all night or let us in? We've tried not to attract any attention, but the longer we're out here in your yard the harder it will be!"

"Come in, come in!" Griffin responded. "It's all right, Diana, it's the Belangers!"

As the older couple swept into the living room, the woman spoke in an assertive, but slightly quavering voice. "Well you didn't think all of your relatives would miss your blessed event, did you? Congratulations to both of you! Are you quite well, Diana? and the child?" She gave Diana a warm hug.

"I'm just fine, Eilonwy. The baby's wonderful...he just fell asleep. But how did you know?"

"Well, Kaaterskill has its ways of knowing about the births of wizards, my dear," Uncle Bertrand said slyly. "But have no fear...only Flyte knows and we've come at his behest. "

"I suppose we should have realized this couldn't be kept entirely secret," said Griffin thoughtfully. "I wonder what else we may have overlooked. Oh well, sit down, do make yourselves comfortable!"

"Can I get you anything to eat or drink?" asked Diana, who had recovered sufficiently to act the part of a hostess. She added apologetically, "I'm afraid we don't have any pumpkin juice, more's the pity. Just can't be had from the muggle stores..."

When Diana had brought some tea and muffins from the kitchen, everyone settled into the chairs in the living room.

"Of course, we want you to get a good look at Ethan," began Diana, "but he'd just fallen asleep when you arrived. I hope you can wait until morning for that."

"Certainly, dear," Eilonwy replied. "We may be old but we still recall what it's like having a new-born to care for. Waking up with the baby's pretty much the same whether you're a witch or a muggle."

"Meanwhile," added Griffin, "why don't you catch us up on what's been going on in the world. We've done such a decent job of blending in here that we have no idea what's up amongst magic folk."

"Ah, we shall certainly do that," said Bertrand, "We also have a letter for you from Cyrus Flyte. But let's bring you up to date first."

"Why has Flyte written us?" asked Diana, a hint of eagerness in her voice. "Has something happened that changes our arrangement?"

"That I can't tell you," Bertrand explained. "Cyrus hasn't divulged the contents of the letter to us. Says it's for you two only...So let us do what we can to sum up the three years since you first decided to hide amongst the Muggles. You-Know-Who had nearly taken control of British wizardry, their Ministry seemed to be in disarray, and You-Know-Who's followers seemed well on their way to infiltrating our community, under the leadership of Hafgan. The Department of Magic lost a number of good people after you went underground. There was Quentin Margolies and the Eldredge brothers, ambushed while on duty. The entire Sturtevant family was foully murdered in Maine. It seemed the Death Eaters were ready to unleash their reign of terror on this side of the ocean."

"We were thankful that you at least were safe," interjected Aunt Eilonwy.

"To think that all that was happening while we were here, learning to be muggles, completely unaware," Griffin said quietly, almost to himself. "Perhaps we could have prevented some of these awful..."

"Come, come, Griffin dear," Eilonwy interrupted. "You know why Flyte was so ready to go along with your plan. If your whereabouts had been known, even had you tried to hide in our world, you would have been the Death Eaters' first targets in America. And had you been found, more than your own lives would have been at stake."

"What's more, my dear boy," added Uncle Bertrand. "You would have been subjected to unspeakable tortures until you broke and gave the Dark Lord what he sought or until death took you. And death would have been a welcome end, I'm afraid."

"I guess you're right, " Griffin reluctantly agreed. "Still, I'm glad we had no way to get news. It would have been nearly impossible to stay here, learning muggle ways, while our worst fears were coming true out there."

"But is this all in the past?" Diana asked. "You're referring to You-Know-Who in the past tense."

"Patience, dear, patience," Bertrand muttered as he resumed the story. "Now where were we? Ah yes, in the fall three years ago...that's when the Sturtevants were murdered. And then, on Halloween, a most curious thing occurred across the ocean. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named set out himself to kill two of Dumbledore's most loyal followers, James and Lily Potter."

"Potter...Potter," Griffin muttered. "That name sounds familiar. Why do I know that name?"

"Decent quidditch player, I understand, and absolutely opposed to the dark arts," continued Uncle Bertrand. "In any case, they had gone to great lengths to conceal themselves...not quite as great as you, of course, but their Secret Keeper betrayed them. You-Know-Who went to their house, killed Potter, then his wife, and then a strange thing happened. The Potters had a son, just over a year old at the time. For some reason, to make a clean sweep or perhaps just due to his evil nature, the Dark Lord cast a killing curse on the baby."

Griffin and Diana both visibly flinched as Bertrand said this. In his bedroom, little Ethan gurgled a bit, but didn't awaken. Diana moved closer to her husband and he put his arm around her.

"The monster...," Diana gasped.

"Yes. And his followers were no less cruel. Remember what I told you about the Sturtevants. They had four children, the youngest just two years. He alone escaped death, because he was with a babysitter. " Bertrand continued, "But you need not mourn young Harry Potter. For the Dark Lord's curse rebounded on him. The boy, orphaned though he was, remained unharmed, save for a rather unusual scar upon his forehead. You-Know-Who, on the other hand, apparently did not fare as well."

"Was he killed?" Griffin asked hopefully.

"Some think so," answered Bertrand, "but all we know is that he lost his form and, so it would seem, his powers. He vanished that night in the wreckage of the Potters' home and there has been no sign of him since."

"What became of that poor orphaned boy?" asked Diana.

"Ah, well, it seems his only living relatives were some Muggles," Eilonwy explained. "Dumbledore saw to it that he reached them. Beyond that, no one really knows. Strange that the most famous wizard of our age should be living amongst Muggles, unaware of all these troubles and his part in ending them."

And so the conversation left young Harry Potter, for Griffin was concerned with more pressing matters.

"So, with V-v-Vol-demort...gone or weakened or whatever," he asked haltingly, "what's become of his followers?"

The others all winced as he stuttered through the Dark Lord's name. Then Bertrand spoke again.

"At first, the Death Eaters were confused," Bertrand recalled. "But when it became clear that their leader had vanished, disarray reigned. Some surrendered, and of those many claimed to have worked for the Dark Lord only under duress, controlled by the Imperius curse. Others, as proud and cruel as their master, resolved to die rather than be taken. The British ministry saw to it that most received their wish, though at great cost. Many were condemned to Azkaban prison."

"And on this side of the ocean?" asked Diana.

"The story was much the same," continued Bertrand. "Of course, the Dark Lord had little more than a foothold here, especially after...the Table Mountain affair. But You-Know-Who's defeat in Britain seemed to put an end to the dark insurgents here. Hafgan's disappeared as completely as his dark master."

Bertrand nearly whispered the words "Table Mountain," but even so he saw that his nephew had closed his eyes and clenched his fists when he heard the words.

"There, there," Eilonwy said. "We know you'd rather not remember the horrors of that place. But if you must know, you two are nearly as famous amongst our people as Harry Potter--your bravery that day has become legend on this side of the Atlantic."

"But they don't know what really happened there," Griffin countered, an edge of bitterness in his voice. "We did nothing heroic...the fact that we survived was an accident, pure and simple. There was no reason we shouldn't have died...and no reason why one of the others shouldn't have made it home."

"Come now," Uncle Bertrand snorted, giving Griffin a stern look. "You may not know the reason for your survival, no one may know for certain yet. But believe me, Griffin, it was no accident. No one else had the skills to escape the disaster and find the way back with...well, you know what...to just the right person. And if someone else had gotten through, they would have taken It straight to the Department of Magic, and that would have been the greatest catastrophe of all."

"Bertrand's right, for a change," Eilonwy added, directing a wry smile at her husband. "Given what we knew, You-Know-Who would have seen that as a great victory. Who knows...the Potter incident might never have taken place, if he'd already added that weapon to his arsenal. And I believe that you two survived Table Mountain because your part in this story had not yet concluded."

Griffin stood up, walked to the window, and gazed into the dark night. "That may be so," he said after a long silence. "But your words are no more comfort to me than a centaur's prophecies."

The clock on the wall had just marked midnight. The company sat silent, as none knew what to say, when they were interrupted by baby Ethan, at first fussing then breaking out into a loud cry.

"The baby must be hungry," said Diana, rising and heading into the nursery. "I'll feed him. Griffin, why don't you show them into the guest room."

"At least your young son is paying attention to the essentials," chuckled Aunt Eilonwy. "It's been a long day. I'm afraid disapparating wears me out these days."

"We'll give you Flyte's letter in the morning," Bertrand said wearily. "When we've all had some rest."

While Diana nursed Ethan, the others prepared for bed. When she'd finished and Ethan was again asleep in his crib, the older couple had retired and Griffin was waiting for her in bed. He appeared to be deep in thought.

"Your aunt's right," Diana said, yawning. "Ethan's got his priorities straight, even if no one else in world does. A good meal, a clean diaper and he's snoring away again."

"Let's hope he gives us a chance to do the same," said Griffin, as they settled under the covers.

"Griffin...I want to get to sleep, too," Diana whispered. "But what a day! The neighbors were wonderful, especially the Abrams'. How Marion managed to organize everyone and bake that amazing cake, while dealing with her own newborn."

Marion Abrams, who lived next door with her husband Frank, had given birth to her first child just two weeks before Ethan was born.

"I was feeling so ready to be a good muggle mother," Diana sighed.

"I know just what you're going to say next," said her husband. "Then Bertrand and Eilonwy apparated onto our front lawn and next thing we know, here we are talking about Death Eaters and the Department and that whole world comes flooding back."

"You've got that right, dear," agreed Diana wistfully. "What do you suppose Flyte wants us to know?"

"I'm not sure," Griffin muttered through another yawn. "But I'm sure he knows what he's doing. I hadn't really thought about it, but I suppose he has ways of monitoring wizard births, even if the child's exact whereabouts aren't known."

"But does Flyte think this puts us in some kind of danger?" Diana asked. "From what they've said so far, it sounds unlikely."

"I'm sure they've lots more to tell us, but I can't think about it right now," Griffin said, and with that he gave Diana a kiss and turned out the bedside lamp. Within minutes, he noticed her snoring and soon he drifted into a restless sleep himself.

Some hours later, Griffin fell into a dream and found himself atop a flat, stony mountain. He felt he'd been there before. His dream was full of flashes of colored light amidst darkness, full of shadow that blotted out the stars and moon, of confused cries and, above all else, of a fear that seemed to smother his spirit where he stood. Vague figures appeared in the distance, then vanished, overtaken by a towering shadow. Someone he knew was nearby, speaking to him, but the shadow and purple lights filled his mind.

At last, he heard someone scream and he awoke to find himself in his bed on Jenifer Street, shivering in a cold sweat . He looked over to find Diana, trembling and staring wide-eyed at him.

"Did you just...," they both started to ask at once.

"I was on Table Mountain again," Griffin whispered. "I haven't had that dream in almost two years now. But it was so real...everything was just as it was then. And you were there, too..."

"I _was_ there," said Diana slowly. "I just had the same dream, Griffin. And it's been almost three years since I've dreamt about that day."

Griffin was beginning to breathe easily again; he pulled the covers, which had been tossed to the bottom of the bed, back over them.

"I don't know what this all means," he said shakily. "But the important thing is that we're here, in Madison, and safe from everything that happened that night."

"I hope so," sighed Diana, as they snuggled together. "I really hope so, dear."

"Let's try to get some rest, now," yawned Griffin. "We're going to need it, I'm sure."

The rest of the night passed in uneventful sleep. The summer dawn was breaking around five, when Ethan woke them with a hungry cry.

"Your turn, dear," said Diana sleepily. "I left a bottle in the fridge last night." She watched him walk towards the kitchen, then listened as Griffin warmed the bottle and went in to feed Ethan. She drifted back to sleep with the sound of Griffin's baby talk in the back of her mind.

An hour or so later, she awoke again to the sound of Bertrand and Eilonwy stumbling around the house. She heard the banging of cupboard doors and the clattering of plates and cutlery. As Diana emerged from the bedroom, she interrupted an earnest, if confused, discussion of muggle devices for toasting bread and making coffee.

"I really do think that the water goes into this thing at the back, Bertrand," Eilonwy was saying. "Oh, Diana dear, good morning. I hope we didn't wake you, but I'm afraid your kitchen's got us a bit befuddled."

"Not to worry," Diana chuckled. "It's taken us three years to figure everything out, and we still worry that we'll miss something obvious and someone will begin to wonder."

"Yes, there's so much to remember," added Griffin, who'd wandered in from Ethan's room. "Of course, Diana keeps telling me this should all come naturally to me, just because my mother's mother was a muggle."

"Evidently the Lloyd side was stronger, eh, Griffin?" Bertrand said, and then giving his great-nephew a sidelong glance, he added, "Did you sleep well?"

"Well, no, to be honest," Griffin answered. "But let's get breakfast together and then we can speak plainly."

So Griffin and Diana bustled about cooking eggs and bacon, making toast and coffee, while Bertrand and Eilonwy looked on with a mixture of amusement and admiration.

"Ah, that's how an electrocuted range works!" Bertrand exclaimed. "Are you sure it's quite safe?"

"It's _electric_ not _electrocuted_," Diana corrected him. "And as long as one pays attention, it's just as safe as doing it on your stove with a wand."

Eilonwy slipped into the baby's room and returned with Ethan in her arms.

"Fine young fellow you are," she said with an indulgent smile. "Want to see what crazy things Mom and Dad are doing, eh, Ethan?"

Ethan rolled his blue eyes a bit and made a noise that might have been a chuckle...or a burp.

Breakfast was served and they all started in with gusto, Ethan still on Eilonwy's knee.

"Well this is good, no mistake about it," said Bertrand as he finished his second egg. "No matter how it was cooked! A house elf couldn't do better."

They talked lightly of family and old times as they ate. Ethan was passed around and made much of by all the adults in turn. When Griffin refilled their coffee cups one last time, they all pushed back their chairs and relaxed. Bertrand leaned back in his chair and gave Griffin another meaningful look.

"So," he began. "I suppose you want to know why we're really here."

"As a matter of fact," Griffin replied, "the question had crossed our minds. I mean, it's great to see you. We haven't spoken with any of our sort in three years. You're our favorite relatives, but I assume that this is more than an opportunity to congratulate us on becoming parents."

"Well, actually, Griffin, it really _is_ that," said Eilonwy, who again had Ethan in her arms. "But you're also right that it's more than that."

"Yes, Ethan is the main reason we've come," continued Bertrand. "We want to be sure you've really thought out how his arrival may affect the life you've created here. It won't be as simple to maintain your cover with him around."

"Well of course we've thought of what might happen," Diana admitted. "But we do think we can handle it, and after all, we're not sure how magical he'll be."

"True, one never knows, though I'll wager he's no squib," Bertrand answered. "Why Griffin, you must remember some of those little "slips" of accidental magic that we all do as children. As a parent, you never know which little frustration, which irrational fear, which squabble with a playmate will result in someone hanging from the ceiling or the evening meal flying out the window."

"Yeah, I vaguely remember things like that," said Griffin, as Diana smirked across the table. "Once, when mom told me it was bedtime, I seem to remember the clock on the wall suddenly floating halfway across the room and then dropping into the wastebasket."

"Even if he turns out to be very active, we're more worried about intentional magic than accidents," Diana pointed out. "We saw how magic can be turned to evil ends, saw it and stood up to it, but we want Ethan to grow up away from all that, in a safe place."

"But don't you see, darling, " said Eilonwy in a motherly voice, "It will start with those little unpredictable 'accidents,' which you might think are cute and which little Ethan won't even think about at all. But as he gets older, he'll start to wonder and so will his muggle friends. Children can be terribly cruel to those who don't fit in, whether they're muggles or magic folk. He could be in for a rough childhood."

"You may be right," Diana said, nervously fingering her coffee cup. "But we can't raise him as a wizard here. And we can't go back. We made that decision a long time ago."

Bertrand stood up and paced about the kitchen.

"That's just it," he said earnestly. "You did make your decision, but we don't always see the future clearly and things are different now, with You-Know-Who gone. You could move out of here, maybe not far, out to your boyhood home in Spring Green. There are those who would welcome you with open arms."

Griffin thought back to the happy days of his childhood in the Wisconsin countryside. He did have cousins still living there, cousins with whom he'd had many an adventure. He was tempted to consider his uncle's suggestion. But then his thoughts turned to the life he and Diana had made in Madison. It had been hard work learning to live as muggles, but that life had its comforts and rewards. He thought of the neighbors and colleagues he'd come to cherish, the thoughtfulness of Frank and Marion Abrams next door, and the best reward of all, Ethan himself. Then his mind darkened with the recollection of the events that sundered him from that first innocent life in the country forever and forced him to build a new life with Diana amongst the muggles: the evil wizardry of Voldemort and his followers. As he looked from Diana to Ethan, still in Eilonwy's arms, the vision he'd briefly had of a simple life with his wizard cousins in the country melted away like early morning mist in the sun. His eyes met Diana's again and he read her thoughts: she had been thinking again about their narrow escape from the horrors of Table Mountain. And a resolve grew in him, a determination to keep their little son away from that world as long as possible.

"You know we'd love to do just that, Bertrand," Griffin said, in slow, measured words. "But we promised each other that we'd raise our child where he would be safe from Death Eaters and their kind. We can do that here, thanks to Flyte's powers and our own. As for You-Know-Who, you said yourself that no one's sure he's gone for good."

"True enough, true enough," Bertrand said with a resigned smile. "Cyrus Flyte thought you'd want to stay. And he told us not to push you, not too hard. He thinks you'll be alright here for a time. But he wants you to do your utmost to keep Ethan' s magical proclivities, if any, in check until the proper time comes."

"Proper time?" Diana looked puzzled. "Does he mean school age?"

"Well yes, I think so, " Bertrand replied. "Cyrus certainly doesn't tell me all he is thinking, but I rather think the old man believes this child may be special in ways even his parents don't know yet. Anyway, here's his letter. That should tell you what he really wants you to know."

Griffin took a small envelope from his great-uncle, turned it over and broke a wax seal in the form of a large "K". He pulled out the letter and held it up so that Diana could read it with him. The letter was not long, just three paragraphs, but Ethan's parents both paled as they read it. When they'd finished, they said nothing but looked at each other, clearly dismayed.

"He may be wrong," Griffin said at last.

"There's no guarantee it applies to...," Diana trailed off.

"It doesn't change anything, even if it does," Griffin said defiantly. "We still need to raise him in this world. And no soothsayer can change that."

Bertrand said quietly but firmly, "Whatever Flyte has told you--_and I don't want you to tell us_--the main thing is that you raise the child well and stay watchful...and I'm sure you will, wherever you are."

"We'll keep good track of you, won't we, Ethan?" cooed Griffin as he took the child from Eilonwy and held him gently in his arms. "Even if you turn out to be a squib."

"Not bloody likely with his heritage," Bertrand harrumphed. "And not if Flyte thinks he's special. You know that you can usually count on his intuition in such matters."

With that the conversation turned again to less weighty matters. Uncle Bertrand and Aunt Eilonwy spent the rest of the day with the Lloyds, chatting about old times, generally making much of Ethan and avoiding further discussion of the shadows in their past. In the evening, they even convinced the older couple to don muggle clothes and take a walk along the Yahara River in the summer dusk. Eilonwy allowed that it was a fine neighborhood and even Bertrand told them that he was happy they'd found such a decent muggle community in which to settle. "You know, your grandfather's second cousin Frank--the squib with the passion for architecture--was never quite accepted in Madison. Too bad, it seems a comfortable city," he said.

Late that evening, the Belangers changed back into their robes and bid the young family farewell. They each gave Ethan a hug and a kiss before embracing his parents.

"I can't make any promises, but I don't think this will be the last you see of us," said Bertrand at the door. "We'll try to keep up with you from time to time."

"You're always welcome here, Uncle Bertrand," Griffin said warmly.

"Look for us when you least expect us," said Eilonwy.

Out the door they swept into the darkening night. A few seconds later, Griffin and Diana heard a loud "Crack!" and knew that they were alone with Ethan and the muggles again, and they wondered what the future had in store for them.

_Page 127/7/05_


	2. Ethan's Daydreams

_Chapter Two_

_Ethan's Daydreams_

Nearly eleven years had passed since Bertrand and Eilonwy Belanger had unexpectedly apparated in the Lloyds' front yard. Their neat bungalow looked much as it had, though Griffin was in the process of repainting it. The Yahara River still ambled past on its way from Lake Mendota to Lake Monona, carrying many pleasure boats with it during the hot summer months. The sun had stolen into their living room that morning, the room almost as it was as Griffin and Diana had agonized over their past and Ethan's future. But now an entire wall was decorated with pictures of Ethan, no longer a baby but a blonde boy smiling out of his 5th grade school photo, posing with his soccer team, on an excursion to the zoo with his friends or hugged by his mother and father. There was no hint in the living room that there was anything the least bit unusual about Ethan or his family.

One thing was a bit unusual, though, about this Saturday in the Lloyd household. Or perhaps two things. First, it was Ethan Lloyd's eleventh birthday. Second, he was spending most of the day out of the house. For Ethan Lloyd was annoyed with his parents, although he hadn't told them so.

The heat wave had entered its seventh day and the Lloyd family, like most of the citizenry (at least those without air conditioning) were becoming out of sorts and irritable. No one in the Lloyd household had slept well and they were awakened early by the sounds of Mungo the cat coughing up a hairball on the living room rug.

Ethan had tried to go back to sleep, but his parents had stayed up; he dozed fitfully for an hour or so, occasionally aware of the sounds of breakfast being prepared by his mother in the kitchen. His father had started clambering around on the scaffolding outside Ethan's window.

As eight o'clock approached, Ethan sat up in bed and stretched, yawning and remembering why he had looked forward to this day. Like most boys his age, Ethan was excited about his birthday party and wondered what gifts he would receive. His parents had planned a small party that evening with a few of Ethan's friends. Ethan knew that there'd be a cake and about a dozen presents. Pete Abrams, a classmate who lived next door, would be there, as would Ryan Morgan from Ethan's Little League team. Ethan's best friend, Justin Spencer-Black, had just returned with his family from Door County, so he'd be there too.

Ethan glanced out the hall window as he shuffled down to breakfast. The morning sun was already heating up the neighborhood. No breeze rustled the leaves of the mature trees that shaded the street and the nearby Yahara River looked dull and listless.

"Good morning, birthday boy!" said Ethan's mom brightly as he entered the kitchen. Sit down, your orange juice is there, the bacon will be ready soon. How many eggs would you like?"

"Thanks, mom," answered Ethan sleepily. "Can I have two please?"

"Coming up in a few minutes, dear, " his mother said over her shoulder as she turned back to the stove. "Oh, Griffin, will you come in, breakfast's nearly ready," she called out the window.

"I'll be right in, Diana," his father called in. Ethan heard his father climbing down the scaffolding. A minute or two later, the screen door swung open and Griffin Lloyd stepped in. A lanky man in his thirties, Griffin shared his unkempt, blonde hair and pointed chin with his son, but his eyes were a bright green. He was wearing baggy paint-splattered overalls which made him look still taller and thinner.

"How's it coming along, dear?" asked Mrs. Lloyd.

"Not bad at all, really. I've almost finished priming that side...it's a good thing I started early today; it's going to be too blasted hot to work out there by noon," Griffin replied, mopping his brow with an old towel that had been stuffed in a pocket of his overalls. "Oh, Ethan...Happy Birthday, son! Are you feeling older yet?"

"Not really, dad," Ethan said with a grin. "Am I supposed to?"

"Well, I know I feel older each time my birthday rolls by now," his father answered, as he sat down to breakfast. "Then again, I don't really recall that feeling when I remember my birthday's at your age. Of course, eleven's a bit special, isn't it?"

Ethan thought the last comment a bit curious. If he'd looked up quickly, he might have caught his mother giving her husband an odd look of concern, as if he'd nearly given away a secret.

Ethan didn't see the glances his parents briefly exchanged, but asked, "Why's eleven so special, dad?"

"Well," his father answered, clearing his throat," Er...you're only eleven once, son, so we want to make the most of it."

Ethan didn't think much of this answer; after all, he'd only been ten once and he'd only be twelve once, too. But just as he was about to press Griffin on the matter, his mother swept in between them with two plates laden with fried eggs and toast.

Diana Lloyd was a short, trim woman with wavy, dark hair and eyes that were the same blue as Ethan's. Diana, however, had an air of bustle and business about her that contrasted with her son's dreaminess; Ethan must have inherited that trait from his father's side of the family. As she occupied herself with putting breakfast on the table, nothing in her demeanor betrayed the doubts in her mind about what this birthday might involve. Her husband's easy-going nature masked similar concerns.

"Pete's going to see the Black Wolf play tomorrow night," Ethan said, his father's odd comment already forgotten. "He wants to know if I can go along."

"Well, Ethan that sounds like a fine idea," his mother replied.

"Of course, that's if you've recovered from all of today's excitement," Griffin added. "Did we tell you we'd gotten a note from Great Aunt Eilonwy? She and Uncle Bert are coming tonight, too.

Ethan nearly choked on a piece of bacon. He quickly had a gulp of orange juice and gave his father a look of disbelief.

"Why are they coming?" he asked.

"Well, they want to share your special day, Ethan," his mother answered. "They are the closest relatives we have and they haven't been for your birthday in, oh, it must be seven years. It's very nice of them to go out of their way for you."

"I suppose so, but you know Mom, they _are_ kind of strange. Funny things happen when they're around. And my friends will be here."

As Ethan had grown up, Bertrand and Eilonwy were the only relatives who'd ever come to visit. Most of his friends had grandparents to visit, but Ethan knew that his grandparents had died before he was born. He didn't really dislike the Belangers, but he couldn't help notice that they always seemed out of place in the Lloyd home. By the time he was eight or nine, he'd become aware that some of his classmates thought he was a bit strange and in turn he grew intolerant of his strange relatives. They always seemed to wear mismatched clothes, and once he was sure he'd seen them just disappear into thin air in the backyard. He'd never asked his parents about that incident, because he was supposed to be asleep in bed. Sometimes he wondered if he'd just dreamed it, but deep down he knew his eyes weren't deceiving him.

"Well, they will have come a long way just to see you," his father said. "I expect you to show them respect and appreciation."

"Yes, dad," Ethan answered with resignation in his voice. Ethan recognized a tone in his father's voice that meant that the matter was closed. So he said nothing more, but inside he was mightily vexed.

After breakfast, Ethan dressed, then asked if he could go out for awhile.

"Unless you need me for some reason," he said. "I thought you might want me out of the way for awhile."

"Yes, you can go out," his mother told him. "Just be back no later than 4:00. And take a hat, it's going to get really hot and sticky today. Oh and bring down the laundry before you go."

"Sure, mom," Ethan said cheerfully. When he'd carried the clothes basket down to the basement, he grabbed his bike off the porch, snapped on his helmet and headed off. His parents were used by now to his wanderings, but they knew that he usually stuck to the bicycle path that snaked along the isthmus to downtown and the university.

As Ethan pedaled along the trail, a freight train moved slowly towards the isthmus on the adjacent tracks. He detoured to the co-op, where he bought a soda, some fruit and a scone.

Ethan took a ride around Capitol Square, where the Farmers' Market was in full swing and headed down State Street to the newsstand, where he picked up the newest X-Men comic book.

The midsummer sun bore down on the isthmus between the two lakes, glancing off the glass towers and the golden dome of the State Capitol. The shallow, greenish waters of Lake Monona on the south seemed to absorb the sunlight into its algae-covered surface. An occasional, desultory breeze raised a few whitecaps on Lake Mendota to the north. Cars and pedestrians moved more slowly than usual in the heat; even the rollerbladers and cyclists on the lakeside path were fewer in number and less ambitious than normal on a Saturday in July.

Heading back along the shore of Lake Monona, Ethan passed people lounging in the heat, some solitary, some couples, some in knots of three or four. Most clustered under the shade of the slender, young trees that dotted the narrow ribbon of green parkland. Some looked like graying, middle-aged hippies, of which the city was reputed to have more than its share; there were punks and Goths, several with leather jackets and a variety of piercings, one young man with an orange spike of hair that rose at least two feet from his scalp. There were skateboarders who'd given up their noisy acrobatics for awhile in the heat. There were a few families, young children cavorting on the grass under the indulgent eyes of their parents.

Madison may have counted amongst its inhabitants a higher proportion of outlandish characters than the average Midwestern city. Perhaps this was because tolerance for diversity was a value upheld by the vast majority of its citizens, even those who were in all other respects ordinary.

Ethan found his favorite tree and settled down to read, brood a bit and daydream. His bicycle, somewhat the worse for wear, sprawled on the ground next to him. He was a tad short for his age and slight, with blondish hair, glasses over his sleepy, blue eyes and a sharply-pointed chin. To all appearances, the boy seemed one of the least remarkable inhabitants of the park on this day. The park on the lakeshore was one of Ethan's favorite haunts. It was easy to get from his house to the park on his bike; once there he could usually find his spot under this quiet tree, gaze out over the water and daydream.

Ethan spent a good deal of his time daydreaming. It seemed to him that his life was much too ordinary. Ethan did fairly well at school, though his teachers sometimes fussed that if only he would concentrate more, he'd get top marks. As it was, he wasn't quite brilliant enough to call attention to himself...and he was inconspicuous enough that the school bullies rarely picked on him, despite his small size and awkwardness.

As he leafed through the comic book about mutant superheroes, Ethan thought about his birthday party and brooded a bit about the impending appearance of Great Uncle Bertrand and Great Aunt Eilonwy. Ethan knew it hadn't been polite to call them strange, but he couldn't help himself. He had known them as long as he could remember and for almost as long, they had made him feel uneasy. One of Ethan's earliest memories was watching his teddy bear leap out of his lap and fly around the room only to land on his head, while Uncle Bertrand beamed at him. Thinking back, Ethan realized he hadn't even known why it seemed odd at the time; he'd been too young to have set ideas about the laws of physics. But every visit from his relatives seemed to include some odd occurrence. They never drove to the Lloyds' house. Whenever they visited, Bertrand and Eilonwy simply seemed to appear at the door. Ethan wasn't even sure where they lived, but he knew they weren't from Madison. His parents never seemed to want to answer questions about the Belangers, which was most unusual, too. On this July afternoon, he realized that what bothered him most about the Belangers was that they reminded him that he'd always had a vague feeling that he was different from his friends and classmates--different in some vague, unexplainable way.

Although he was descended--somewhat distantly--from those Welsh free thinkers who had arrived in Wisconsin in the 1840s and had confounded the other inhabitants with their odd ways ever since, Ethan knew little of his family history and had no reason to think there was anything in his heritage that would set him apart from the other children in his neighborhood. Indeed, Ethan thought his parents had sometimes gone out of their way to be ordinary. While several of his friends had been on exotic vacations, to England, Hawaii and Florida, the Lloyds had never been further away than Milwaukee as a family. Earlier in the summer, they'd finally let him go to Wisconsin Dells for a weekend with his friend Justin and his family. When he was eight, Ethan had asked his parents why they couldn't go to Disney World for spring vacation. They'd told him that they couldn't afford the trip. Yet it didn't seem to Ethan that his family was any worse off than their neighbors, the Abrams', who had made the trip the year before.

Ethan had tried his best to submerge his feelings of awkwardness in many ways. At school, he tried to do well enough to get good grades, but he rarely volunteered and even gave wrong answers on purpose from time to time to avoid being top of the class. He went out for the same sports as his friends Pete and Justin, played baseball and soccer, even though he was one of the smaller players on his teams. He didn't star in either sport; in soccer he was a reserve and in Little League he was usually the right fielder. Yet in the heat of the game, odd things sometimes happened around him. Like the time he'd come into a Little League game in the last inning with the scored tied. He'd never been much of a fielder. But this was a playoff game and Ethan was determined not to embarrass himself. Still, when the first batter hit a line drive to right, Ethan was sure he could hear his coach groan. He watched the ball about to soar six feet over his head. Just as suddenly, he stuck up his glove and caught the ball. Nobody could explain how he caught it, as it was moving fast and clearly well out of his reach. But there was no denying the ball was in his glove. Ethan was as shocked as everyone else when he found it there, but he tried to act non-chalant as he tossed the ball back in to the pitcher.

Then there had been a soccer game the previous fall. Ethan had been tripped and the offending player had dribbled the ball towards the goal. Ethan scrambled to his feet, angry and frustrated, and saw the other player about to shoot. Ethan shot a withering glance in that direction, and the next second, the opposing player had fallen _backwards_ as if he'd run into a brick wall. On that occasion, Ethan was the only one on the field who had any reason to see a connection between Ethan's fall and the abrupt halt of the shot on goal. The other player took a good ribbing from his teammates for his sudden slip. Pete Abrams, with no thought of cause and effect, called out to Ethan, "That's what he gets for a cheap shot!" But Ethan, then and later, wondered. Had he made the boy fall? How could he have? Surely he couldn't have. No, it had to have been a coincidence.

Then, perhaps strangest of all, there was his narrow escape from a group of bullies at school last spring. Ethan had early on decided to keep his profile low and generally he'd succeeded in not drawing attention to himself. But one day, Erik Brewer and three of his friends, the most feared of the fifth-grade bullies at Marquette Elementary, had cornered Ethan and Pete on the way home from school and demanded their snack money, Pete's Swiss Army knife and Ethan's binoculars. Pete and Ethan were scared but determined not to give in, and they stood their ground near the school end of the footbridge over the river. Pete was bigger and more athletic than Ethan, and Erik let his three buddies gang up on Pete while he towered over Ethan. He shoved Ethan down on the grass and shouted, "Better turn it over, Lloyd, or I'll have to break those wimpy glasses of yours." Pete was being pummeled by the other three boys though it sounded as if he was getting some good punches in himself. The next thing Ethan knew the bully was in the shallows of the river, along with his friends. Furthermore, Ethan found himself at the _other_ end of the bridge. Everyone was too surprised for words for a moment. The bullies had no clue how they'd ended up in the water, and they beat a hasty retreat. Pete watched them go with a look of blank astonishment on this face. "Umm, how did you end up over there?" he asked weakly, running his fingers along his swollen right cheek bone. "No idea," said Ethan, who was none the worse for wear. Again, he forced himself to deny the feeling within that he had somehow willed their escape. Erik Brewer and his friends left Ethan and Pete alone from then on. Every now and again Ethan was sure they were whispering together about him, but all it took was a glance from him to send them on their way.

Ethan hadn't minded being left alone by bullies, but he noticed that some of his other classmates seemed to avoid looking directly at him after that incident, too. Evidently, someone had spread word of their miraculous escape. Pete got the same treatment, but as far as Ethan could tell his neighbor didn't spend as much time thinking about it as he did himself. When word spread that Erik Brewer's gang was afraid of Ethan and Pete, some of their younger schoolmates began tagging along behind them on the way to school and back.

Ethan set the comic book aside and looked out across the hazy surface of Lake Monona. He sipped his soda and finished off the scone he'd brought. It was almost one o'clock. The air hung heavy with heat and humidity. Ethan felt drowsy and let thoughts of his relatives and the strange normality of his life drop. His mind wandered into a daydream of life far beyond the shores of the four lakes and then he drifted into sleep. In his dream, Ethan and some other children planned some important task. He wasn't sure of their goal, but he felt certain that many people depended on their success, that lives might even be at stake. At some point he realized that the friends who were following him in this quest were not kids he knew from Madison. A girl with red hair and a stocky boy with curly hair and green eyes seemed to be his chief allies. He saw himself holding a round stone with a jagged lightning bolt carved in its center. He was strangely fascinated by its workmanship and yet felt a deep unease as he held it in his right hand. The scene changed. Now Ethan found himself in the dense thicket of a forest. A large building ablaze with light rose in the distance behind him, but all was darkness around him. The carved stone felt heavy in his pocket. There were three figures before him, hooded and menacing, adults from their size. It seemed to Ethan that he was also wearing long dark robes, but without a hood. No one spoke, but Ethan felt certain that they wanted the stone and felt just as certain that they must not get it. As they drew nearer, he fled back towards the light, but it seemed no matter how hard he ran through the forest, he got no closer to safety. His pursuers were at his heels, he was sure they would catch him any moment...

Ethan woke with a start. He was still next to his tree in the lakeshore park. A group of skateboarders had just clattered by, waking him. He wiped the sweat from his face; it was a cold sweat, not that of a hot summer day. "It was so real," he thought to himself. "Did they get it?"

But even as he wondered, the details of the dream began to slip away from him. He felt that he'd had this dream before, or at least part of it, but all he could remember was darkness and pursuit and the desperate feeling that he was about to be caught. He shook his head, frustrated by the fleeting vision.

Ethan looked at his watch. It was nearly 3:00 PM. Could he really have slept for two hours? He knew it was nearly time to head home and get ready for his party. He guessed that Uncle Bertrand and Aunt Eilonwy would be there when he arrived. So he gathered his things back into his knapsack, picked up his bike and headed back up the path. He zipped around the corner onto Williamson Street and then saw that he needed to hit the brakes fast. He needed to cross Willy Street at the light so that he could slip over one more block to the bike path along the railroad. But the light was red and standing there at the crosswalk were five or six people dressed more oddly than anyone Ethan had seen in Madison that day. The men were all dressed in long black robes and wore conical black caps and pointy little shoes. The women wore similar but more colorful robes, one a shimmering emerald green, another deep purple with stars and moons in silver. They wore pointy black hats with wide brims. Ethan skidded to a halt just behind them. They were standing in a circle , evidently deep in conversation. They didn't seem to notice the squealing of Ethan's brakes, though one of the women glanced briefly at him once he'd stopped.

The light was red, so Ethan waited, thinking he'd enjoy the show. After all, he was used to seeing strange haircuts, hair colors, piercings and clothing selections as they were part of normal life in this university town. On the other hand, these people puzzled poor Ethan. They were clearly not college students; they were too old, a couple seemed older than his parents. None of the old hippies dressed like this. Maybe they were Wiccans, he thought, though he figured even modern-day witches would dress more sensibly than this in a heat wave.

As he waited behind them, Ethan began to pick out bits of their conversation, which was hard as they all seemed to be talking at once. "..seems it's true," the tallest of the men was saying. "Young Potter witnessed it..." One of the women said something that sounded like "Triwizard Tournament" and a grave older man muttered, "...in for bad times, if He's really back." "Dumbledore's word...good enough for me, " seemed to come from the tall man. Just as Ethan was about to give up trying to figure out what the strangely-clad people were discussing, he picked out the soft-spoken words of the grey-haired woman in an emerald robe: "Someone should warn the Lloyds." He stopped stock-still for a moment, unsure whether he'd really heard those words. He wanted to interrupt them, to ask whether they meant Griffin and Diana Lloyd, to tell them who he was. But as he thought about this, the light turned green and they were on the other side of the street before Ethan realized that several other bikers had passed him and crossed the street. As he finally began to move forward, the light turned red again. He stamped his foot in frustration, then looked across to where the robed strangers had gone, only to see no trace of them. Had he imagined them? He hardly thought so. Was there something in his snack that had caused his strange dream and now was giving him hallucinations? No, Ethan was sure they had been there talking about witnesses and fear and the return of some nameless shadow...and of warning the Lloyds.

As he cycled home, Ethan couldn't stop thinking about his strange encounter. He knew there were other Lloyds in Madison, though he'd never met any of them. But the thought that these strange people, their fears and his own dark dream related in some way to his own family wouldn't be dislodged from his mind.

Ethan cycled on, too preoccupied to notice that the hazy sky had given way to white cumulus clouds and towering thunderheads. By the time he'd passed school and glided across the Yahara River footbridge, the sky was darkly threatening. As he pulled up to the Lloyd home, Ethan noticed that the porch was festooned with bunting and a banner that proclaimed "Happy Birthday, Ethan!" with large "11" s at each end of the roof.

"Well, thank goodness you're back" his mother exclaimed as he jumped off the bike and returned it to the porch. "They've just issued a tornado watch...now until 8, but it looks like the worst of it will be here soon. Come on in and say hello to your uncle and aunt."

"Hello, there, Ethan!" said Aunt Eilonwy in her quavering voice. "Let me give the birthday boy a big hug!"

The approaching storm and the strange happenings of the day had gotten the best of him and he gave Eilonwy a real hug, finding comfort for a change in her presence. She ran her hands through his blonde hair for a moment in a reassuring way. "It's really good to see you!" Ethan finally said. He turned to Bertrand, now grey-haired and if possible even stouter than ever, and gave him a quicker hug, then shook his hand firmly. His great uncle bowed his head gravely as Ethan did this, then said, "It's good to see **you** young man! My, you have grown since we saw you last. And so have you been wandering all over Madison on this hot sticky day?"

"Not really. I just spent some time in the park and it was so hot I actually fell asleep for awhile," Ethan said. "And had a kind of a weird dream. Looks like I got home just in time."

"Yes, of course it wouldn't be a real birthday without some unusual weather," Uncle Bertrand said. "Why I remember a birthday of your father's a few years back when two feet of snow fell on us here. That visit ended up a lot longer than we'd planned."

Suddenly Ethan frowned. "Mom, the weather won't stop my party, will it?"

"I don't think so, dear," Diana replied. "Your friends are all nearby. And if we need to, we'll just move the party to the basement for awhile. Our basement is just as safe as Pete's or Justin's."

"Phew!" Ethan sighed with relief. The prospect of a birthday party in the basement, which was partially finished, actually appealed to him. As he looked around, he saw a fairly large pile of presents in one corner of the living room. The dinner table was set with bright birthday napkins and plates. Glittering stars had somehow been attached to the dining room ceiling; in the growing gloom, Ethan thought the stars almost seemed to be twinkling on their own.

"Now go wash up, Ethan," Diana said. "Your friends should be here in about half-an-hour."

When he came back down stairs twenty minutes later, in a fresh shirt and jeans, Ethan noticed that Bertrand and Eilonwy were dressed rather oddly, as usual. Bertrand was wearing a powder-blue leisure suit that might have been fashionable twenty years earlier. Ethan thought that Eilonwy's dress looked very much like one of his mother's. In fact, it seemed too short on Eilonwy, who was several inches taller than Diana. He'd missed these details when he'd arrived; too many other strange thoughts had been racing through his mind.

It was getting blustery when Pete Abrams and his parents knocked on the door on the stroke of five o'clock. "Happy Birthday, Ethan!" Pete shouted, handing over a large, well-wrapped rectangular package. He and Ethan headed into the living room and started talking baseball. Pete rooted for the Black Wolf, the local team, and the Cubs.

"Come on in, Frank. Hi, Marion. Make yourselves at home," Griffin said. "You remember my Uncle Bertrand and Aunt Eilonwy, don't you?"

"Certainly. Good to see you again," said Marion. "Did you have a good trip in?"

"Well, travelling isn't easy at our age,I'm afraid," said Eilonwy. "But the trip was tolerable."

"You're from out East somewhere, aren't you?" Frank Abrams asked.

"Yes, yes, out East indeed," answered Bertrand enigmatically.

"Good of you to come all this way," Frank continued.

"Well, we thought it was about time we were here for one of Ethan's birthdays," said Eilonwy. "And you only turn 11 once."

Another knock on the door announced Justin Spencer-Black's arrival. A tall boy with wavy dark hair, Justin ambled in and headed in to where Pete and Ethan were sitting, carrying two small wrapped gifts. "Here you go, Lloyd!" he said. "Happy Birthday! Hi, Pete."

Justin's parents conferred briefly with Diana, then headed off. Just as they left, a sandy-haired boy walked up, also with a couple of small presents in hand.

"Come on in, Ryan," said Diana, "You'll find the boys in the living room."

"Thanks, Mrs. Lloyd," he said, quickly joining the others.

Despite the threat of bad weather, Ethan's party progressed much as any eleven-year-old's birthday party might have. Griffin grilled the hamburgers and hot dogs outside, keeping an eye on the sky and chatting with Bertrand and Frank. Eilonwy, Diana and Marion Abrams spent most of their time in the kitchen, making small talk and putting the rolls, condiments and salads on the table. The boys' discussion moved from baseball to superheroes and pro wrestling, then they decided to play table hockey in the basement.

"Hey, at least we'll be ready if there really is a tornado," Ethan called back up the stairs to his mom.

"Just don't get too involved, dinner's almost ready," Diana said.

The rain started just as Griffin brought the burgers and hot dogs in from the grill. Frank rounded up the boys and everyone set to. Food simply seemed to vanish from the table, the boys were that hungry. Old Mungo slithered under the table between people's legs, but he didn't get much in the way of handouts.

"Don't you remember, Diana," said Marion as she took seconds of potato salad, "A couple of years ago we would have been begging these kids to finish their meals. Now look at them."

"You're right," Diana said, somewhat wistfully. "I guess they're really starting to grow up. Hard to believe."

By the time the main course was cleared and the birthday cake readied for its entrance, thunder and lightning was visible in the distance. Griffin turned out the lights and only the cake candles-- and the odd star decorations on the ceiling--lit the room as everyone sang "Happy Birthday" to Ethan. He blew the candles out in one try, plunging the room into almost total darkness. Griffin flipped the lights back on, but just as Diana was cutting the cake and beginning to serve, the lights went out again. Almost immediately, the tornado siren three blocks away began wailing,

"OK, you know the drill, boys," Griffin told Ethan and his friends, "Back down you go...here, take this flashlight."

Ryan grabbed the light and led the way to the basement. After a quick look at the sickly greenish sky, the adults conferred among themselves and decided to move the party to the basement. Diana brought the birthday cake, Marion the plates and forks and Eilonwy the napkins. The men quickly collected Ethan's presents and brought them downstairs. Griffin had partially finished the basement a few years earlier and furnished it with some older chairs and card tables. Ethan had gotten the table hockey setup the year before. There were a number of battery-powered camping lamps around the room.

Griffin flipped on the radio, which Bertrand watched with evident curiosity. "Quite a system you've got there," he said, as the announcer described a line of thunderstorms moving to the northeast. A funnel cloud had been spotted just west of the city.

"Now, is everyone ready for cake?" Marion Abrams asked. She resumed the cutting of cake, while Eilonwy and Diana distributed slices.

"Well, Ethan, I guess you won't forget your 11th birthday," Frank Abrams chuckled.

They all had their fill of birthday cake. "Present time, Ethan!" Diana announced and Ethan moved over to the pile of presents on the floor. In the dim light he began with a heavy but small package from his parents. Opening it, he found a hard-bound edition of Tolkien's _The Lord of the Rings_.

"Thanks, Mom and Dad! Now I know what I'll be reading the rest of the summer"

Ethan had read _The Hobbit_ in school that year and wanted to know more about goings-on in Middle-earth. Next he opened Pete's present, a large box which revealed a Lego kit for constructing a 19th century warship, the USS _Constellation_. "Cool, thanks Pete!" he exclaimed. "Maybe you can help me build it later."

And so Ethan plowed through the pile, as the radio in the background charted the steady course of the storm front through the city. While they could hear the wind and rain outside, it seemed that any tornadoes were skipping the Lloyds' neighborhood. From Ryan, Ethan received a Hootie and the Blowfish CD, from the Belangers a sweater made by Eilonwy ("I'll wear it in the fall," Ethan assured her), some camouflage pants and other clothes from his parents, a small CD player also from his parents and from Justin the new CD by the local Klezmer band Yid Vicious. "Thanks, Justin! You're the only one who'd know I'd want this," Ethan said. "No problem, buddy," Justin replied. "Enjoy!"

Finally, all the presents were unwrapped but one: a small one with a card attached. Ethan read the inscription aloud: "For Ethan, with love from Bertrand and Eilonwy. This belonged to your great-grandfather, Eilonwy's brother. It is time for you to have it." In the gloom of the basement, Ethan didn't notice his parents giving each other concerned looks as he read. He removed the wrapping with more care than usual to find a small hardbound book. On the front cover three "L"s were entwined in a monogram. He opened the cover and saw the signature "Llewellyn Lewes Lloyd" in the upper left corner. He turned to the title page and read "_Magical Beginnings: a Concise Introduction to the Theory and Practice of Wizardry,_ Home Edition, by Elihu Verplanck. New York, 1889, Umm, this is really...interesting, Aunt Eilonwy. I didn't know my great-grandfather was a magician."

"Well, not exactly a magician, dear," Eilonwy began. She caught Griffin's admonishing glance and quickly added, "You just read it and see if it really is...interesting." She said no more.

"Let's have a look, Ethan," said Justin. Ryan and Pete ambled over, too, but they seemed more interested in the CD player and the _Constellation_ model than the book.

Justin flipped through _Magical Beginnings_ quickly, handed it back to Ethan and said, "I don't know, Lloyd, you must have had some weird ancestors. Either that or he had a great sense of humor."

"Now, Justin," Marion Abrams said. "It's just a family heirloom, something that connects Ethan to family he never knew. I think it's a wonderful gift."

Just as Griffin cleared his throat loudly, the electricity came back on and the room was lit so brightly they had to shade their eyes. "How's that for perfect timing? As soon as all the presents were opened, the lights came back," Diana said. The radio had sounded the all-clear, so everyone made their way upstairs. The boys were first, running outside to check for damage; aside from some small tree branches that had come down in the Lloyds' and Abrams' yards, all seemed well. While the adults cleaned up, Ethan and his friends played two-on-two soccer in the backyard. In a half-hour or so, Justin's parents came to pick him up and Ryan headed home. The Abrams family stayed a bit longer, but soon enough headed next door.

"Don't forget the ball game tomorrow night, Ethan," Pete reminded him. "We'll pick you up around 6:30."

"OK," answered Ethan. "Thanks again for everything Pete, Mr. & Mrs. Abrams."

"Happy Birthday, Ethan!" Frank and Marion chimed together as they left. The sky had cleared almost completely and the sun was beginning to sink towards the western horizon. Ethan turned to go inside, but waited just inside the door as he heard the unaccustomed sound of raised voices coming from the kitchen.

"What on earth did you think you were doing, Eilonwy?" Ethan heard his father's voice, tense and angry. "Giving him that book in front of all those people."

"Well, really, Griffin, do I need to explain myself again?" Ethan's great-aunt spoke in an annoyed tone he'd never heard her use before. "It's something that's come down in the family and it's part of Ethan's inheritance. And as for his friends and your neighbors, you heard them. They took it as just an odd old heirloom. At worst, they think you had a circus magician for an ancestor. There's no harm in it, surely!"

"You really should have told us you were going to do that," Diana interjected. "At least we wouldn't have been caught off guard."

"Ah, but had we done that, you probably would have forbidden us from giving it to him," said Bertrand, drily. "Not that you would have had any good reason to do so."

"That's as may be, Bert, but we are his parents and you should have consulted us first," countered Griffin.

For the second time that day, Ethan stood listening to a conversation he was not meant to hear, and this one was no less confusing than the first. Once again, he desperately wanted to ask what they were talking about and what it had to do with him. But his conscience got the better of him and he let the front door close with a bang, alerting the others to his presence. The argument ceased immediately. He walked across the living room towards the kitchen.

Had Ethan been facing the other way, out towards the yard, he might have noticed an odd sight. For as the door slammed, a large tawny owl swooped into the Lloyds' yard, landing on the front stoop. The owl had been carrying a small envelope that it now left in front of the door. Having deposited the envelope, the owl took off into the sunset, unobserved by Ethan or anyone else in the neighborhood.

"Oh, hi, Ethan," said his mother as he entered the room. "Have you had enough excitement for one birthday yet?"

"Yeah, actually, I think I might take some of my presents upstairs," he told her. "The books and CDs. Is it OK if I try out the CD player?

"Sure, just don't turn the volume up too high. We don't want you to go deaf at 11," his father replied.

So Ethan grabbed the player, the CDs, _The Lord of the Rings_ and Llewellyn Lloyd's old book and headed up to his room. When his father mentioned his age, Ethan had been reminded of the several occasions on which he'd heard adults tell him that turning eleven was special. He was really starting to wonder whether that could be a coincidence, given all the strange occurences of the day. But he thought back just a couple of weeks to Pete's birthday. It had seemed fun, but there didn't seem to be anything out of the ordinary about his friend's party.

Ethan unpacked the CD player, put the batteries in, then opened his new Yid Vicious CD, slipped the earphones on and pushed the start button. He didn't know what had attracted him to the mystical jazziness of klezmer but the music made him feel at ease in a way few other things could. As he listened, he flipped through the immense _Lord of the Rings_ his parents had given him--it was all three volumes in one fancy red binding. He folded out the large map of Middle-earth inside the back cover and looked over Tolkien's fantastic geography. He found Hobbiton and the Lonely Mountain quickly, and the Misty Mountains with Rivendell nearby, but there were many other places not written of in _The Hobbit_. Ethan realized that reading this book would take many hours and he decided that he would not try to start on this summer evening.

So he picked up the strange little book that the Belangers had given him. As he opened it, Ethan experienced an odd feeling, something like a slight electric shock or an unexplained feeling of exhilaration. He read the title page again and wondered why had his parents and the Belangers been arguing over this old book. What had Eilonwy meant when she said "at worst" the neighbors would think Ethan's great-great grandfather was a circus magician? Why would they care? Who was Llewellyn Lewes Lloyd anyway?

As these questions piled up unanswered in Ethan's mind, he flipped to the table of contents, which was rather curious. The first chapter was called "Of the Discernment of the Magical Gift in a Child," the second "Of the Undisciplined Use of Magic by Youth," and the third "Steering the Magicial Youth onto the Right Path." These were followed by "Lessons for the Education of Magical Youth in the Home," "Spare the Wand and Spoil the Child," and "The Golden Rule of Sorcery." Several similar chapter headings were concluded with "Consideration of Secondary Magical Education in North America." Ethan saw nothing that would help in the training of circus performers. In fact, when Ethan read the introduction, he became more confused. There Elihu Verplanck wrote, "The author having observed the frequent difficulties that arise in the discerning and nurturing of the magical talents of wizards and witches from the earliest age, he has endeavoured in the present work to provide a guide that parents may employ to identify and encourage such talents in their children and to direct the use of these precocious abilities towards productive ends." If not for the regular use of the words "magic," "wizard," and "witch," Ethan would have thought the work a dry, old book on educational theory. The language was old-fashioned and would have been difficult for any eleven-year old, but Ethan was now intrigued if confused by the book. He skimmed the first chapter and then the second. As he read, it dawned on him that Verplanck was writing in complete seriousness about raising children with what Ethan and his friends would call "supernatural" abilities, not unlike those in his X-Men comic books. As Ethan flipped through Chapter Two, "Of the Undisciplined Use of Magic by Youth," he felt a sudden thrill of recognition as he read: "As the magical talents are part of a child's underlying nature, the reader will not wonder that children may spontaneously make use of magic without intention, often even without being cognizant of their action. Parents may notice such usage particularly when the young one faces a stressful or frightening situation. It is important for parents to understand that such spontaneous magic is completely natural and very rarely leads to serious danger for the young sorcerer or to others. Nevertheless the child may be upset by the results of his untutored magic, for they may defy what the child's mind has defined as normal. As an example, we may hypothesize that a child, feeling threatened by a large dog or other beast, may magically transport himself away from danger. As adults we may find this action perfectly explicable, while the child who has yet to experience apparation this displacement will seem disconcerting and unnatural." Ethan thought back to his escape from Erik Brewer and realized that Verplanck had described Ethan's feelings nearly perfectly, over a century earlier. He read further into the book, but nothing else reminded him of his own life. The ensuing chapters prescribed methods for teaching magic to young children, and the whole notion seemed completely impossible...if it weren't for the fact that the book seemed to explain things that Ethan had actually experienced, things that had made him feel strangely unlike his friends, things that he could not understand.

Ethan was unsure how long he'd been reading, but he noticed that it was dark outside. He put the book and the CD player aside and got into his pajamas. Then he went down the hall to the bathroom. When he'd finished brushing his teeth and washing up, Ethan headed down the darkened hallway to the stairs, intending to go downstairs to say good night. He stopped, as he again heard his parents deep in a discussion with Bertrand and Eilonwy. This time he heard no anger in their voices, but Ethan did detect a seriousness in the conversation that made him hesitate. And yet again, he listened intently to a conversation he was not meant to hear.

"We know what you've tried to do all these years," he heard Eilonwy say. "And we know you meant well and we know why you've done it. No one would question your motivation."

"Then you understand why we want to continue on that path," Griffin's voice sounded older and more tired than Ethan had ever heard it. "We want him to live in this world, away from the evil powers that threaten that one. And that's just what he's been able to do, for eleven years now."

Ethan listened more closely, as he realized they were talking about him.

"We're not being selfish," his mother's voice floated up from the living room. "But he's our only child, and I know I couldn't bear to have him exposed to that kind of danger. And if your latest news is correct, that would only make life for him more perilous."

"Well, the news from England is not definitive. Dumbledore says it's true, but their Ministry has made no pronouncement," said Uncle Bertrand. "And of course our Department will make no statement until Fudge has done so, and then will probably mirror it. Bureaucrats are the same the world over. But the point is, letting the boy know is not only better for him, it's safer for you too, especially now."

"How do you figure that?" asked Griffin. "It seems to me that if he is off at Kaaterskill, someone will put two and two together, even if we all pretend he's an orphan taken in by relatives. And if someone realizes who he is, he'll be in grave danger and he could also be used to get here. And that, as you told us many years ago, would be a disaster, not to mention probably fatal for Diana and me."

"I don't mean to downplay that possibility, Griffin," Bertrand continued. "It could happen. But Flyte has a great ability to prevent such things at Kaaterskill, at least. And you are overlooking the fact that letting him stay here, pretending he's a muggle, will have its own dangers. "

"What do you mean? I don't understand," Diana said, weariness mixing with frustration in her voice.

"What he means, dear, is this," Eilonwy chimed in. "You've already told us that he's had some, shall we say, extraordinary experiences for a muggle. That story of his escape from the school gang was priceless! But as long as he is unaware of who he really is, things like that will continue to happen from time to time. The older he gets, the more powerful the magic and the more dangerous coming from one who has no means of understanding or controlling it. Little children almost never cause any harm with their magic and Ethan hasn't yet either. But as he gets older, as a teenager and then an adult, he could do something destructive...completely unintentional, yes, but destructive nonetheless. And what's more, whether your house is unplottable or not, it will be impossible to completely hide the occurrence of unauthorized spells from the Office of Magical Law Enforcement. They'll investigate, and even if they can't nail down the location or even identify the practitioner, they'll leave a trail. And believe me, You-Know-Who's supporters will be following every trail that may exist."

"I suppose you're right," Diana said. "But what you're telling us seems to be that our house of cards is about to collapse either way. We continue living as we have these past fourteen years and Ethan's magical nature will betray all of us. Or we tell him everything, send him away to school and hope that Flyte can keep the entire magical world from knowing that Griffin and Diana Lloyd are not only alive and well but living in Madison; we might as well publish our address in the _Sentinel_."

"I think, " said Bertrand gravely, "that you owe the boy an explanation, nephew. No matter what else happens, Ethan needs to know what's going on and who he is. Just listening to him and watching him today, I'm sure that he has questions already. It may be that our little gift will help him figure things out, but he needs you and Diana to level with him. Give him the choice, Griffin. He may be young, but he's old enough to know his heritage and to have a say in the path his life takes. He may decide to stay right here, but if you wait, even another year, he won't have the chance to go to Kaaterskill."

A long silence followed. Ethan sat, transfixed, on the top stair. He didn't know whether to feel angry or sad or happy. He couldn't see the anguished looks that his parents exchanged. He thought he could hear them whispering to each other, but couldn't make out the words. Then he heard his father speak.

"All right, uncle," Griffin said. "Tomorrow we'll sit down with Ethan and tell him everything he needs to know. And we'll show him the letter, try to explain what his choices are, and then let him decide. And by Merlin, once he makes up his mind, we'll see to it that he carries through. And we'll need your help in that, I'm sure."

"You know we'll help any way we can," said Bertrand. "Whatever he decides."

"We'd better all get some rest, now," said Diana. "Tomorrow is going to be a very unusual day. And Ethan's got a couple of hours of sleep already."

At that, Ethan realized he'd better get to bed fast. He slipped back into his room, crawled into bed and flipped off the light. Sleep came slowly to him, as he rolled over in his mind all the incredible happenings of his birthday: the dream in the park, the robed strangers and the summer storm; his party, opening presents in the dark basement; his discovery of _Magical Beginnings_ and the overheard conversation just concluded. It seemed that his life was about to change in a big way, but for better or worse he couldn't say. He felt as if he'd been asking an unknown question all his life and that he was about to get an answer. As he drifted into a dreamless sleep, Ethan thought to himself, "You only turn eleven once, you know!"

_Page 18 of 18Printed 7/7/05_


	3. Window on a New World

_Chapter 3_

_Window on a New World_

Ethan awoke the next morning having slept more peacefully than he had in at least a week. The storm the previous night had cleared away much of the humidity and Sunday dawned clear and much cooler. As he looked around his room, Ethan felt somehow different than he had one day earlier. At first he didn't know why this was, but as he reached for his glasses and slipped them on, his eyes fell upon _Magical Beginnings_ and all of the previous day's strangeness came back to him. What he remembered most of all was the feeling that he was about to be let in on a mystery that had baffled him all of his short life.

Ethan got up and dressed quickly, then ran downstairs. He found that he was the only one up in the house, except for Mungo. All was quiet. Ethan knew he couldn't let on that he'd heard the conversation the previous night, so he had no choice but to wait for the adults to arise. Momentarily disappointed, Ethan poured himself some juice and cereal and sat at the kitchen table eating breakfast. The familiar form of Mungo approached from the living room and the scruffy old cat slid around Ethan's legs under the table.

"That tickles!" Ethan said as Mungo jumped up into the next chair and looked quizzically at the boy.

Ethan looked over at the cat and said to Mungo, "I suppose you're in on whatever this secret is, too?" Ethan was almost sure that Mungo had nodded at him. Mungo sat watchfully as Ethan finished his cereal.

Ethan put his dishes in the sink, went up and got _The Lord of the Rings_ and sat down in the living room to read. Half an hour later, around 8 o'clock, he heard his mother come down the stairs.

"Well, you're up early, Ethan!" she said. "You must have gotten a good night's rest."

"Yeah, mom, I really did," he replied. "I don't think I could have slept another minute."

"I see you've had breakfast already," his mother said. "I suppose you're planning to go out for a ride soon."

"Well, actually, Mom, I thought I'd just stick around the house today...at least until it's time to go to the ball game."

Diana got the breakfast foods out and set the table.

Ethan continued reading as the other adults came down and had breakfast. He thought they seemed uncommonly quiet this morning.

Ethan found it difficult to remain patiently watchful, but he was determined not to give his parents an excuse to put off the discussion he'd heard them promise the night before. Finally, Diana began clearing the breakfast dishes and the others came into the living room. His father came over to the chair where Ethan had stretched out with the Tolkien book in his lap.

"Well, son, how's the book look?" he asked. "Think you'll finish it this week?"

"It looks interesting, Dad," Ethan replied honestly. "But I doubt I'll be able to read it that fast!"

Bertrand and Eilonwy sat down on the couch across the room and contrived to have a conversation about the shrubs just outside the window. Ethan had never known them to take the slightest interest in the Lloyds' grounds before. Griffin sat down in the chair next to Ethan's and flipped through the previous day's newspaper. When his mother finished washing the dishes and the last coffee mug was in the drying rack, she also sat down in the living room, on the other side of Ethan. She grabbed a book off the coffee table, one that had been there for many months and had never been opened. Ethan felt a strange thrill of anticipation, knowing that the adults were working up their courage to speak to him. He found their behavior both amusing and disconcerting. Amusing because he knew why they seemed restless and uncomfortable, disconcerting because he wanted them to get on with it, to tell him what was going on. He also felt angry and confused, angry because he knew his parents had been keeping secrets from him and confused because he had grown up trusting his parents and believing that they had always been honest with him.

Griffin put the newspaper on the coffee table and cleared his throat loudly. The Belangers abruptly stopped talking to each other and turned to face the Lloyds. Diana slid the book she'd been skimming back onto the coffee table and turned to face Ethan.

"Ahem!" Griffin cleared his throat again. "How are you today, Ethan?"

"Fine, dad!" he answered, and he added slyly, "But I should tell you, now that my eleventh birthday's been and gone, I do feel somehow different."

"Really, that's interesting," Griffin replied, clearly not expecting that answer. "Because, well...I mean, your mother and I have something important to discuss with you, Ethan."

"OK, Dad," Ethan answered, putting his book down and sitting up straight in his chair. "There's nothing wrong, is there?"

"Oh, no, Ethan," his mother interjected. "Nothing wrong. It's just, there's something we need to let you know about..."

"About our family history and who you really are," Eilonwy added from across the room.

For a moment, Ethan wondered whether he'd misunderstood what he'd overheard the night before; maybe the explanation was much simpler than he'd thought. Yes, he thought, that must be it. He burst out, "Am I adopted, dad? Am I really a Lloyd?"

The adults were momentarily speechless, then Diana burst out laughing, "Oh, my dear Ethan! No, that's not it...you are _not_ adopted! You're a Lloyd and we are really your parents! Take it from me; I remember your arrival very well."

"What your parents need to tell you is that you are very much a Lloyd," Uncle Bertrand said. "And that is a very complicated thing to be."

"You may find this hard to believe, Ethan, but it's true," Griffin resumed. "None of us in this room are as ordinary as we might appear...including you. In fact, I'm a wizard, son, and you are too, we believe. So is Great Uncle Bertrand."

"And Aunt Eilonwy and I are witches, Ethan," his mother added.

"What do you mean, we're wizards?" Ethan asked, sounding skeptical although within he was beginning to feel as though he might finally be able to make sense of his life. "What do you mean, you're a witch, Mom? You've never done any Wiccan stuff at all."

Bertrand harrumphed at the mention of Wiccans. "You mean those people who call themselves witches and worship tree trunks and waterfalls? They've nothing to do with real magic...or with us. They're just a bunch of muggles playing at magic," he said contemptuously.

"Muggles?" Ethan asked.

"That's a name for non-magic folks, Ethan," his father explained. "Or to put it another way, ordinary people, just as we've pretended to be for 14 years now."

"You're going too fast, Griffin," Diana said. "You'd better start at the beginning or he'll be more confused than he is already."

"OK, OK...Ethan, what you've got understand first of all is that there are some people in the world who are born with the ability to do what most people would call 'magic', " Griffin explained. "Magic folk have been around as long as the world itself has. But they found that muggles didn't understand these magical powers, especially in Europe and North America after the rise of science. And what humans don't understand, they often fear needlessly. Witches and wizards, as well as other muggles who were accused of being witches and wizards, were persecuted and often killed. So the magic folk decided to live apart from muggles to survive. For centuries now, we've gone to great lengths to avoid being detected by muggles. But sometimes young wizards and witches fall in love with a muggle. My mother's father was a wizard who fell in love with and married a muggle girl. My grandmother was the last muggle in the family. Your mother's family has been all witches and wizards for seven generations."

"Wait a minute," Ethan said. "So the stuff in _Magical Beginnings_ is real? All that stuff about accidental magic?"

"Ah, yes, it is," said his father.

"And I've done magic, haven't I?" asked Ethan. "I mean, that's how Pete and I got away from Erik's gang, isn't it?"

"In all probability, yes," Griffin answered.

"And there were other times, too," Ethan continued. "And you knew all along, didn't you? But what if I'd hurt someone doing magic? And wait a minute...if witches and wizards are supposed to live away from normal people, then what are we doing here in Madison in the first place?"

All of the adults winced at Ethan's use of the term "normal."

"Now slow down, young man," Uncle Bertrand interjected. "One question at a time. Your father can explain all of this."

"Yes, I think I can," Griffin asserted. "If everyone will be patient and listen. Now, most of my ancestors lived in Wales, a part of the world with more than its share of magic folk. But over a century ago, lots of people from Wales--magic and muggle--moved to America, and quite a few came to Wisconsin."

"Yeah, I learned about that when we went to Taliesin," Ethan said.

"And even the Welsh muggles had a reputation for being, shall we say, different from the rest of the settlers."

"Like Frank Lloyd Wright, you mean?"

"Well, yes, but he's only the best known...especially his mother's family, the Lloyd Joneses," Griffin said. "Anyway, our branch of the Lloyds settled in a quiet valley near Spring Green and there we lived for the next several generations. And that's where Llewellyn Lewes Lloyd was born over a century ago."

"But you said that magic folk weren't allowed to live among muggles. So how did they manage to stay there all those years?" Ethan asked.

"You're right, back in 1692, the International Council of Wizards decided that magic and muggle folk couldn't live together," Griffin said. "But it's never been completely feasible to avoid muggles and the segregation isn't always physical. You see, we can use magic to prevent muggle folk from knowing where we live or what we do in our everyday lives. To the other inhabitants of Spring Green, the Lloyds' little valley just seemed to be an uninhabited, infertile section. The only muggle to even visit our homestead over the years was my mother's mother and even she wouldn't have been able to find the house without my grandfather's help."

"And you'll learn, Ethan, that muggles often choose not to see things they don't understand," Uncle Bertrand added. "That fact, combined with various spells, is usually enough to keep our doings from muggle notice. And when a muggle sees something they shouldn't, we have some very useful ways to help them forget."

Summer birds sang their songs outside the window; it was a clear, bright morning, warm but without the stickiness of the previous week. Ethan heard the sound of rotating blades and knew that Pete Abrams was out mowing the lawn next door. A car moved slowly by the house. The neighborhood noises crowded in on Ethan and led him to his next question. For though he didn't fully understand what his father had told him so far, he had accepted what he'd been told. Unless both of his parents and the Belangers were pulling his leg or they'd all gone completely mad, he had to believe it. But that didn't explain what they were doing living on Jenifer Street.

"But, if what you've told me is right," Ethan began, "then you...and I, too, shouldn't be here, should we, Mom and Dad? I mean, Pete and his parents aren't wizards, are they? Why are we living with... muggles? And why haven't you told me any of this before today?"

Diana stirred, and she spoke. "Those are the hardest questions to answer, Ethan. And some of the answers won't mean much to you. But we will answer them, because you need to begin to know, for soon you will have a decision to make. Let me take up the story for a bit."

Ethan looked at her, eager and full of wonder. Griffin nodded to her and she continued.

"While your father was growing up in Wisconsin, I was doing the same with my family in New York State, in the Hudson Valley. The Bones family had settled there before the Revolution, and I can't trace a single muggle among my ancestors. Now wizards and witches are mostly home schooled when they're young, and so it was for me until I turned 11. Then, I went off to a boarding school not too far from my home...my two older brothers were already there. And there at the Kaaterskill Academy of Magic, I spent the next seven years learning the skills of a witch. And there I met your father, when we were both 11."

"And as I recall, it wasn't exactly love at first sight, was it?" Eilonwy said.

"Oh, no, not at all. I thought your father was far too weedy at first. And he seemed to spend all his time with his head in the clouds."

"And I thought your mother was an insufferable know-it-all for the first four years we were at Kaaterskill," added Griffin. "It wasn't until our fifth year there that we both finally began to notice the good things about the other."

Another strand of understanding flashed in Ethan's brain. "So that's why everyone keeps telling me being 11 is special!"

"That's right, dear," Diana continued. "But let me tell you a bit more before we talk about that. Now, we might as well tell you now: not all wizards are good, Ethan, any more than all human beings are good. And all the while we were in school, there was a battle brewing between the good wizards and the evil. The evil wizards wanted to dominate all wizardkind first and to make sure that only those of "pure" magical heritage be educated as witches and wizards. Then it is thought that they wanted to use magical powers to control the muggle world as well. The leader of these evil ones was an English wizard, whose name is almost never mentioned aloud. But I am going to tell it to you, that you may have the courage to defy his evil as we have. He was called Voldemort."

Diana had said the name resolutely, but Ethan could see it had taken some effort on her part. The Belangers had cringed and his father looked down at the floor at the sound of the name. Ethan fancied that the sun had gone behind the clouds for a moment just as Diana spoke the name.

"And by the time Griffin and I graduated from Kaaterskill, there were two things we both knew. First, that we wanted to be married and raise a family together. And second, that we wanted to fight against the evil wizards. And so we were apprenticed in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to become aurors, hunters of dark wizards. And just about 14 years ago, the department found out that Voldemort had sent some of his followers to the island of Newfoundland in search of a legendary power that could help him in his quest for domination. Your father and I were sent to thwart them, along with a dozen other aurors."

"This was the most important mission any aurors had ever been sent on," Eilonwy added. "It was vital to stop You-Know-Who from getting that weapon on his side."

"Did he get it?" Ethan asked, half-consciously recalling his dream. His father clenched his fists involuntarily.

"No, dear, the aurors stopped him," Diana told him and then continued with difficulty. "But...we were the only two to survive the ordeal. To this day, we're not sure how we managed it when the others fell."

"You have to understand some things about your parents, Ethan," Bertrand interrupted. "First, they are courageous. Second they are loyal. Third, they are among the most skilled wizards and witches in the world. They could not have survived their ordeal were they not. And fourth, they don't believe the first three things themselves most of the time."

"Bertrand's right about that, Ethan," Aunt Eilonwy added. "And because they knew a great deal more about the power that You-Know-Who sought, it was extremely dangerous for them in our world after the battle. For if he had the knowledge that they had gained, he would have been far more powerful. And so they decided, with the help of their old headmaster at Kaaterskill, to do the reverse of what wizards have done for centuries. Instead of avoiding muggles, they decided to come here and live as muggles, protected from observation by other wizards and witches by some very complex spells."

"And so here we've been for nearly the last fourteen years," Griffin said. "At first we had a great deal of difficulty, for there are so many differences between the way magic folk and muggles do everyday things. Just cooking dinner was a real challenge, getting on the bus to go to work was a revelation, understanding the electric lights and appliances was all new, and even getting used to the money they use wasn't easy."

"Wait a minute, dad," Ethan said, suddenly incredulous. "You mean magic folk don't have electricity? What about cars? Is that why we've never had one?"

"No, we don't have electricity or cars," his father replied. "We'd already developed magical solutions to all of the things muggles use them for. We were always taught that those things were developed by muggles _because they couldn't use magic_. You'd be surprised at all the things magic can do, Ethan."

"You know, Ethan," Eilonwy said. "The fact that you find this so difficult to believe means that your parents adjusted very well to life as muggles. Your uncle and I never cease to be amazed at your...technology, is that what it's called, Griffin?"

"But what happened to Vol...," Ethan stopped in the midst of his question when he saw the adults become tense, "I mean, You-Know-Who? Are you still hiding from him?"

"He was defeated by the most unlikely person imaginable," his father answered. "An infant, just over one year old at the time. That was nearly fourteen years ago. But nobody has ever been sure that he was gone for good. And indeed, word reached us only yesterday that he may have reappeared at last."

Ethan's mind went back a day to the robed strangers at the crosswalk.

"Wait, I think I heard something about that," he told his parents breathlessly. "I was on the way back from the park yesterday. There were all these people in dark robes talking among themselves, blocking the way. I had to wait behind them. I thought they were just the usual Madison characters, but it made me feel strange. But then I was sure they said someone should warn you about something...they said "the Lloyds," I'm certain. I felt that I needed to speak to them. But when I looked to see where they'd gone after crossing, I couldn't see them. They just vanished. So there are other wizards and witches here in town too!"

"There are a few who know we're here," Diana said. "Even they couldn't find their way to this house unless we brought them ourselves. But they have ways of communicating with us in an emergency."

"You're sure they were just out on the street discussing such things, Ethan?" Griffin asked. "It worries me that they would be so caught up in it that they'd risk that out among muggles. Oh well, the important thing is that one of them _did_ get the warning to us. I'm not sure that it changes much, but it's best to know all the possible dangers. Ethan, are you all right?"

Ethan had covered his face with his hands. The birds were still singing outside, he could still hear Pete pushing the mower, and life was going on much as it always did. But suddenly Ethan felt that everything that had seemed so ordinary and concrete was actually a wispy dream, a figment of his imagination. He almost felt weightless himself, as if he might just float off into space if he didn't hold onto something.

"No, I'm not all right, OK," he blurted out, raising his head again. "I mean I've been living here for 11 years and I thought I knew who I was, and who you were, and even if I didn't always understand life, I thought I belonged here. But now, I don't know anything it seems. I'm a wizard, whatever that means, and so are you, and mom's a witch. And you're hiding from the evil wizards and their leader is back. So I guess that means that I've been hiding from them since I was born, even though I didn't know it until today. And he wants to catch you, and the people who are supposed to be helping you hide are standing around on Willy Street talking about it. No, I really don't think I'm all right."

Griffin shifted uneasily in his chair. Diana looked stricken and remained silent. Finally, Bertrand spoke.

"Ethan, we all know you didn't choose any of this, and it's natural for you to be confused, even angry. But there are many things that we cannot choose. All we can do is to decide what to do with the life we've been given. Your parents love you more than anyone or anything in the world. Their one thought throughout your life has been how to protect you from the evil that they had witnessed. But parents can only protect their children for a time and then they have to trust that they have raised them with enough sense and courage and brains to look out for themselves. You have almost reached that age and I think that they may be surprised at just how much they can trust you. You have a decision to make, now that you know the truth. Griffin, I think you should give him his letter."

Ethan watched as his parents exchanged glances. Diana had recovered her usual demeanor and nodded to her husband.

"This came for you yesterday, Ethan," Griffin said. "We waited to give it to you until you knew enough to understand what it's about. Go ahead and read it."

He handed Ethan a small, yellowish envelope. Ethan, still not too certain of himself, took it and opened it. Inside was a letter addressed to him. He pulled it out and read:

"**Kaaterskill Academy of Magic**

**Headmaster: Cyrus Flyte**

**(Order of Merlin, 1st Class, Envoy to the International Council of Wizards, Fellow, American Order of Sorcery,President, Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Magical Creatures)**

July 12, 1995

Master Ethan Lloyd  
12 Jenifer Street  
Madison, Wisconsin  
United States of America

My dear Master Lloyd,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been selected for admission to Kaaterskill Academy of Magic.

Enclosed please find a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins the Wednesday following Labor Day. We await your decision, to be transmitted by owl no later than July 31.

Respectfully yours,

Herodotus Bancroft

Director of Admissions,

Professor of the History of Magic"

He continued to look at the letter, as if he hoped that it would somehow answer all the questions racing through his mind. Finally, he asked," How do they know about me? I mean, I never applied to go there."

His father replied, "You'll find that some magic folk have ways of knowing things like where there are 11-year old wizards and witches. Even when their parents are pretending to be muggles. For that matter, even if their parents _are_ muggles. They've probably known about you since you were born, Ethan."

"So this is the school you and Mom went to, right? It's way out East somewhere, you said."

"It's in the Catskill Mountains, along the Hudson River in New York State," Diana replied. "One of the most beautiful spots in the world."

"What's it like? It must not be much like Marquette...these books on their list sound pretty weird."

"Well of course they sound weird to you now," Griffin said. "At Kaaterskill, they take in students with magical talents and teach them how to use them to the best of their ability. Not exactly the kind of thing the public schools are going to cover."

"I'd probably be the only one there without a clue to what being a wizard is," Ethan said glumly. "Why do they want me to come, anyway? I'll just make a fool of myself."

"No, you'd be surprised, Ethan," his mother countered. "First, a lot of the children with wizard parents have very little idea how to do magic before they get to Kaaterskill. Second, a fair number of the students are muggles' children who didn't have any more idea than you that they were wizards. And I doubt you'd make a fool of yourself...there's too much of your father in you, and a bit of your mother. I don't think you'll have too much trouble, son."

"But...," Ethan began then stopped to reflect a moment before continuing. "I know I haven't always fit in here, especially at school. But Madison is what I know. My friends are here. I don't really want to go away and leave them here. And what would I tell Justin and Pete and Ryan...what would you tell the Principal at school. I mean, if I told them I was going to an Academy of Magic, they'd look at me cross-eyed, and the school would send me to see the guidance counselor."

"You're right about your friends," Diana said. "We'd have to leave out the magic and say something about it being a family tradition. As for the school staff, well, we would probably have to resort to a bit of magic to get their approval, but it can be done."

"You mean you'd find a way to fool the principal?" Ethan asked, grinning at the thought. "I can't believe you'd do something like that, Mom."

"Well we don't do such things often, but sometimes we have to," Griffin said. "After all, we had to invent all sorts of credentials and personal history when we moved here. For starters, the University doesn't recognize a diploma from a magical academy when hiring librarians."

"I still don't know. I mean it's so far away, and I know so little about it," Ethan said, hesitating.

"Yes, but you know very little about yourself, really," Uncle Bertrand said. "Kaaterskill is the only place you'll find answers to the questions you have, Ethan, and I know you have questions...the hows and whys of who you are. And who you can be. You won't discover that by going along at your muggle school. We can sit here and try to explain, but we can only do so much. You need to be in a school where they'll accept your magic as a gift and help you develop and hone it."

"Can I think about it, Dad?" Ethan asked, still indecisive. "Do I have to decide right now?"

"You can take some time," Griffin replied. "Not too long, though. What does the letter say? "

"We await your decision, to be transmitted by owl no later than July 31," Ethan read aloud. "That's almost three weeks still."

"We trust you can make a decision in a few days," Griffin said. "No point in dragging it out to the deadline."

"What does he mean, "transmitted by owl, Dad?"

"Oh, that," Griffin said with a slight grin. "You'll find that wizards don't use normal postal delivery, Ethan. An owl delivered this letter, and whatever you decide, your reply will go back via an owl."

Ethan was speechless, for neither the first nor the last time that day. He looked again at the second sheet of paper that had been tucked into the envelope. He shook his head as he read down the page, for this was the strangest list of school supplies he'd ever seen:

_Kaaterskill Academy of Magic_

_Required Books and Supplies-First Years_

Textbooks

Miranda Goshawk, _The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)_

Demos P. Lockridge, _Magic in North America, from 1000 BC_

Adalbert Waffling, _Magical Theory_

Arsenius Jigger, _Magical Drafts and Potions_

Newt Scamander, _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_

Euell Crockett, _Magical Plants of the Americas and Their Uses_

Emeric Switch, _A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration_

Harmony Townsend, _Living with Magic: an Ethical Primer_

Knox Harter, _Light in the Darkness: Strategies for Defense against the Dark Arts_

School Attire

_First year students will need:_

_1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)_

_2. One plain pointed hat (black)_

_3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)_

_4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)_

_Please ensure that all pupils' clothing is identified with name tags._

Equipment

_1 wand_

_1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)_

_1 set glass or crystal phials_

_1 telescope_

_1 set brass scales_

Animals

_Each student may bring ONE animal: either an owl, a toad or a cat._

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT ALL OTHER ITEMS REQUIRED FOR INSTRUCTION OR EXTRACURRICULAR ACTIVITIES OF FIRST-YEAR STUDENTS ARE PROVIDED BY THE ACADEMY. ON NO ACCOUNT SHOULD OTHER ITEMS, INCLUDING BROOMSTICKS, HERBS OR POTIONS, BE SENT FROM HOME.

"Umm, Mom and Dad?" Ethan asked. "Do the students at Kaaterskill really wear robes and pointy hats all the time?"

"Not all the time, dear," his mother said. "Robes definitely for classes, the library, weekday meals and school gatherings. The hats are mostly used on special occasions--the opening assembly, the Halloween feast, a few others. But what you might call "regular" clothes are fine on weekends and in the dormitories in the evening, and maybe other times now--I hear things have gotten a bit more relaxed since we were in school."

"And the part about the wand and broomsticks ...is that for real?"

"Definitely for real, Ethan," his father answered. "A wand is the most important tool a wizard can own. Though broomsticks come in very handy, too. Of course there are other ways to travel, but that works well for short to medium distances."

Ethan still searched his parents' faces for some sign that this was a gigantic post-birthday joke. Finally, satisfied that they were serious but still finding it all hard to believe, he exclaimed, "Gosh, and all this time I thought those were just stories to scare kids at Halloween. Pete and Justin will never believe this!"

Bertrand chuckled a bit, and then said, "Spoken like a true muggle, Ethan. If I didn't know that you're Griffin and Diana Lloyd's son and that you've already done magic, I would guess we'd made a huge mistake."

"Seriously, though, son," Griffin added. "I'm afraid that you can't tell your friends any of these details. They'll have to be satisfied that Kaaterskill is just a boarding school out East that our family has attended for generations. It's very important, both for your muggle friends and for magic folk."

"Of course, it won't hurt," said Aunt Eilonwy, "that if you did tell them they would think you had gone completely mad, my child."

At this Ethan looked thoughtful, but said nothing more. Although he appeared calm, the thoughts running through his mind were confused and contradictory. He realized that he could now explain many of the odd feelings that had nagged him. He now knew that he really was different from his friends. He also remembered that he'd always thought his family led a life so ordinary it verged on boring and that his daydreams had always involved going on heroic adventures. Suddenly he'd discovered that his stay-at-home parents had known such adventures and had turned their backs on heroism. And Ethan now felt that he'd been born into the middle of the strangest adventure he could imagine. His thoughts then turned to the odd letter from Kaaterskill, and it seemed to Ethan that a window had opened through which he could see a future that would have seemed utterly impossible a day earlier. But just as quickly he thought of his friends: Pete, who he'd known for as long as he could remember, with whom Ethan had shared so much--first trip to the zoo, first bicycle rides, first day at school, even first showdown with bullies; Justin, who'd moved into the neighborhood at the beginning of third grade and whose Dad coached their Little League team; Ryan, whose mom worked with Diana at the Co-op, who'd explored all of Madison's bicycle trails with Ethan, and who shared his obsession with the X-Men. Ethan found it too hard to think about leaving them for a strange school far away. And he sensed that his parents were right; he couldn't even try to explain all of this to his friends. It was hard enough to believe it himself.

The hardest part, Ethan realized, was that, for the first time in his, he had to make a decision for himself: to stay in Madison and to try to ignore what he'd learned about himself or to set out for Kaaterskill and turn his back on everything he'd known in his young life. And he knew it really was up to him; his parents wouldn't make this decision for him. He wondered whether this was what being a grownup was like: having to choose a path without knowing where it would lead in the end. If so, he wasn't sure he was ready to grow up.

The clock had struck eleven o'clock. Pete had stopped mowing, but the birds were still chirping. Everyone was still silent. Ethan felt the adults were waiting for him to say something. Finally, he stood up, looked first at his mother, then at his father.

"I guess you've told me enough for now," he told them. "And I've got some thinking to do. I'll try not to wait too long to make up my mind, Dad. Oh, and thank you for telling me everything." Ethan gave Diana a hug, then walked over to Griffin and did the same to him. Then he crossed over to Eilonwy and Bertrand and hugged each of them.

"Thank you too for helping to explain things," Ethan said. "It helps, it really does."

"There's one other thing we hope you know, Ethan," Griffin said quietly.

"What's that, Dad?" Ethan asked.

"That we both love you very much," his father answered. "Take your time and make the right choice. And know that we'll love you just as much whatever you decide."

"And if you need to talk about it some more," Bertrand said gravely, "we are all willing to do that, Ethan."

"Thanks," Ethan said. "Now if no one minds, I think I'll go look at my birthday presents some more."

The rest of the day passed quietly. Nobody seemed to wish to discuss magic, owls, evil wizards or the letter any further. Griffin spent part of the afternoon painting the house. Diana did housework and the Belangers sat outside in the garden. Ethan spent most of his time in his room, reading _The Lord of the Rings_ and listening to CDs. He decided not to delve further into _Magical Beginnings_ for the time being, for he thought that would only lead to more questions. He was sure he had enough questions in his mind already. He left the book propped up on his bookshelf; every now and then he had an odd feeling that a voice was calling him, encouraging him to pick it up, though. Each time this happened, he looked over at the bookshelf; once or twice he imagined the letters of the title were glowing faintly.

Eventually, he drifted off to sleep, only to find that the book was talking again, this time telling him how easy it would be to use magic to do his homework. Ethan protested that that wouldn't be honest. Then they were joined by a snowy white owl, which flew in through his window wearing a black robe and carrying a wand in its beak. The owl circled the room and landed next to the book. "This is the one, eh?" the owl inquired. "Hardly looks the type to me. Are you sure you're at the right house?" "Well, he doesn't know what to _do_," the book replied. "That's to be expected; he knows nothing of magic. But he's got more than a talent for magic; he's got character, this one. If he's the one, we'll know by his choice." "I hope you're right," the owl said. "We need to find the right boy soon." At that, the owl flew out the window.

Around 4:30, Marion Abrams called to make sure Ethan remembered the ball game that night. Diana called up to Ethan to remind him, and he woke with a start, half expecting to see the owl outside the window.

Groggy, he gradually figured out what his mother was talking about and sat up with a start.

"Right, mom, I remember now," he said. "I'll be down in a little bit."

"You don't need to rush, dear," Diana said. "You can get something to eat at the ball park."

Ethan would have enjoyed the game in any case, but after the revelations of the morning he really wanted to do something relaxing and normal. He decided he'd go next door a bit early, so he grabbed his baseball hat and glove and headed downstairs about 6 o'clock. Griffin gave him money to cover his ticket, food from the concession stand and something for a souvenir. "One more birthday present," he said, as Ethan went out the door. "Have a good time!"

"Sure will, Dad!" Ethan called over his shoulder. "See you later!"

Although he'd never shown great talent for baseball, Ethan enjoyed the game more than any other. Pete was developing into a good Little League pitcher and shortstop and he was already the best hitter in their grade. They'd both been delighted when the Black Wolf, an independent team, had begun playing in Madison that summer. The Abrams's had been to about a dozen games already and almost every time Ethan had gone along. The Black Wolf were made up of washed-up minor leaguers not ready to give up the dream of playing pro ball, with a leavening of talented youngsters who hadn't been signed by a major league club. Neither Pete nor Ethan cared much that the Black Wolf players were unlikely to make the majors. Ethan in particular saw a parallel between his own less than stellar baseball talents and the Black Wolf. They weren't playing for the money, but for love of the game and for their own long-shot dreams.

On this night the Black Wolf were playing the St. Paul Saints, a team that actually had a couple of former major leaguers on their roster. Ethan and the Abrams family bought their tickets, got programs and headed for their favorite section of bleachers on the first base line. It looked like a good crowd; the change in the weather seemed to have brought a lot of people out to the park. They saw several other friends and schoolmates on their way to their seats. Just as they headed up into the bleachers, Pete nudged Ethan in the ribs and pointed a little further down the right field line. Holding forth in the center of a group of 4 or 5 kids their age was their least favorite person, Erik Brewer, the bully who'd ended up in the Yahara after picking on Pete and Ethan.

"I thought something smelled funny," Ethan said.

"It's a shame they let that gang in," said Pete, "But I suppose their money's as good as anyone else's."

"Yeah, in fact their money probably _is_ someone else's," Ethan replied and they both laughed.

Once they'd found seats, Frank Abrams went to the concession stand to get hot dogs, nachos and drinks for everyone. The Black Wolf took a 2-0 lead in the second inning, only to fall behind 4-2 in the fifth.

An inning later, the Black Wolf's right fielder sent a foul ball over the dugout on the first base side. Ethan and Pete both stuck their gloves up, though it seemed the ball would go past their seats and down the baseline. Inexplicably the ball seemed to take a sharp right turn and...smack! there it was in Pete's glove.

"Good catch, son!" exclaimed Frank Abrams. "That one really hooked. I'm surprised you stayed with it."

Pete looked into his glove, astounded he'd caught anything. Ethan wondered whether his desire to catch a foul had anything to do with the ball's course change. But he let the thought drop as the Black Wolf loaded the bases and their catcher doubled all three runners home. Madison had taken the lead once again and the boys were ecstatic.

Ethan decided this would be a good time to go look for a souvenir. Pete told him he'd be along in a few minutes. Ethan made his way to the sales stand, which was back towards the entrance. After some consideration, he selected a small bat stamped with the Black Wolf name and logo. As he headed back to the bleachers, Ethan heard something like a pig squealing back in a corner between the bleachers and the outside fence. He glanced in the direction of the noise and saw Erik Brewer leaning over something. As Ethan looked more closely, he could see that Brewer was flailing away at a smaller boy who was either on the ground or on his knees.

"Oh come on Evans, just give me the money and you can go," the bully growled.

Ethan had begun inching in the direction of the fight. He looked around and couldn't see that anybody else had noticed. It sounded like St. Paul was rallying again and the crowd noise masked the sounds of Erik and his victim. As Ethan got closer he recognized the smaller boy, who had a bloody nose already, as a fourth-grader named Alec Evans. Evidently Alec, who was one of the kids who'd started following Ethan and Pete around after the dunking incident, wasn't giving in just yet.

"No, Erik, you can't have it. It's mine and I'm not giving it to a bully like you."

"That's too bad, Evans," Brewer said. "But I guess you didn't really want those ribs anyway, did you."

Erik landed two more punches to Alec's ribcage, causing the younger boy to double over in pain.

Ethan didn't know what to do. He really wasn't big enough to take on Erik by himself. He knew the bully had avoided him since his gang's attempt to beat up Ethan and Pete, but that was no guarantee he'd turn tail and run without a fight. Ethan wished Pete had come along with him. Finally he screwed up his courage.

"Leave him alone, Brewer!" he shouted. "Try picking on someone who's your own size for a change."

Erik turned around, which gave Alec a chance to scramble back onto his feet.

"Mind your own business, Lloyd you wimp," he said. "I'll take care of you later, Evans. First it's about time I teach Lloyd here not to mess with Erik Brewer twice." And he started moving towards Ethan.

Ethan had no clear memory of what happened next. He held his souvenir bat out towards Erik. Just then there was a tremendous _whoosh_ from above them and a huge light fixture came crashing down from the standard next to the wall. It landed just behind Erik and large parts bounced off the ground, hitting both the bully and Alec, who'd been too scared to move after Erik had let him up. The huge bulb shattered into hundreds of pieces that showered the ground around the three boys.

Ethan stood rooted to the spot in a state of shock. He saw the other two boys prone on the ground, but he couldn't move to see if they were all right. Oblivious to his surroundings, he heard a voice in the back of his mind pounding, "I didn't mean to do it! I just wanted to stop him from beating up Alec. I didn't mean to hurt anyone!"

In seconds, though it might have been hours as far as Ethan could tell, several things happened. Pete Abrams had been on his way to catch up with Ethan at the souvenir stand when he heard the crash and turned to see his friend standing amidst the wreckage of the giant light. He ran over and found Ethan standing dazed.

"Are you OK, Ethan?" Pete asked weakly.

"Didn't mean...he was punching Alec...just wanted him to stop," Ethan gasped. "Just fell...couldn't stop."

Pete yelled for help, which was hardly necessary as quite a few fans had seen the fixture plunge downward and even more had heard it hit the ground. A dozen or more were right behind Pete, followed quickly by several paramedics and police officers. They found that Alec was conscious and seemingly unhurt except for some minor cuts and his bloody nose. "Don't try to move," the paramedic told the boy. "We have to get you to the hospital to check you over. Just stay calm." Alec seemed perfectly content not to move for the moment.

Another paramedic was examining Erik Brewer, who was lying curled up on his side. His eyes were open, but he was speechless and his face seemed frozen with fear. The paramedic could find nothing wrong but a large bump on his forehead, but he muttered something to a policewoman; she went off in search of another backboard.

Frank and Marion Abrams hurried up, their faces lined with concern.

"Are you two all right? What happened, Pete?" his father asked.

"I don't really know, Dad. I was just going to catch up with Ethan when I heard this huge crash. I looked over here and saw those two on the ground and Ethan standing right here. I think he must be in shock or something."

Ethan was shaking and his face was white as a sheet. Marion Abrams went to him and gave him a hug. "It's all right, Ethan, it's OK," she told him.

"Isn't that Alec Evans over there, Pete?" Frank Abrams asked. "Who's the other boy?"

"That's Erik Brewer. I think Ethan was trying to tell me that Erik was beating on Alec," Pete answered. "He's the biggest bully in our school, Dad. That's who tried to beat me and Ethan up last spring."

A policeman came up to them. "Are you OK, son?" he asked Ethan, seeing that he'd been cut in a few places by flying glass or metal. "Odd thing, that fixture just letting go like that. Lucky no one seems to have been badly hurt."

Hearing the last sentence seemed to snap Ethan out of his daze a bit.

"They're going to be OK, sir?" he asked faintly.

"Yeah, it looks like some cuts and bruises, that's all," the officer replied. "Could have been a lot worse. Listen, son, are you sure you're OK?"

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine," Ethan told him, though he still heard the protesting voices in his head.

"Why don't we see if we can get those cuts tended to, Ethan," Frank Abrams said, and they walked to the first aid station. After having Ethan's wounds cleaned and bandaged, they all headed out to the parking lot to the car; although the game had resumed, none of them really felt like staying.

"I think Ethan needs to get home for some rest," Marion Abrams said. "Let's try not to get Diana and Griffin too upset about this."

On the way back to Jenifer Street, Ethan gradually stopped shivering and regained his usual appearance. Pete asked him in a whisper, "So what were you doing over there, Ethan? Were you trying to break up a fight?"

"I was about to, Pete," Ethan said quietly. "I heard something, like someone was hurt. I looked and saw Brewer beating up Alec. I yelled at him and he was about to start on me. And then..." His voice trailed off; the voice in his head returned and said "and then...you made that light fall didn't you? Yes, very clever; no one would suspect. And besides, it was self-defense, wasn't it?"

Pete only saw his friend stop short and stare off into the western sky, still glowing orange from the summer sunset.

"It's all right, Ethan," Pete tried to comfort him. "Nobody was hurt, really. Though it would have served Brewer right if he had been."

They arrived at the Abrams house and all accompanied Ethan next door. Griffin answered the door and looked startled when Ethan rushed in and hugged him.

"What on earth's up, Ethan?" he asked.

Frank Abrams recounted the incident in as much detail as he could give.

"He's a bit shaken, Griffin, but he's just a bit scratched up. Everyone says they're all very lucky, but then we know Ethan's got the luck of the Welsh, right?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Griffin answered with a faint chuckle. "Thanks for looking after him, Frank. We'll let him rest up and make sure he's OK."

"Good night, Ethan," Pete said as they left. "I'll check up on you tomorrow."

"Thanks, Pete. See ya," Ethan said shakily.

Diana and the Belangers had listened with concern to Frank's description of what had happened at the ballpark. But nobody really said much. Instead, Diana checked the small bandages on his face and arms and then ushered him upstairs to bed. She tucked him in, turned out the light and sat at the edge of his bed for a few minutes, which she hadn't done much lately--he'd outgrown it, so Ethan had thought.

"Mom?" he asked.

"Yes, Ethan?" she answered.

"Umm, I don't know, but...I mean...what happened tonight...I feel like I might have made it happen, you know, by magic. I mean, I didn't want it to happen, but when Erik came after me, I just felt something go through me, almost like an electric shock, and next that thing was falling down on him. Do you think I could have?"

There was brief silence. Then Diana spoke.

"Well, Ethan, if I didn't know what I know about you, I would tell you that's impossible. I'd tell you that people can't just make heavy lamps fall from a hundred feet in the air when they feel threatened by a bully. But in your case, I'd have to say, I don't know. Maybe there was something loose in that fixture that was going to make it fall sooner or later. But then again, it could be that you _did _make it happen by magic. I can't tell you for sure. You're the best judge of that."

"Thanks, Mom," Ethan said, "Good night."

"Good night, dear," she said as she left the room.

Ethan did not fall asleep quickly. His mind refused to quiet itself. The voice he'd heard on the way home returned and now he recognized it as the voice he'd heard coming from the book _Magical Beginnings_ the day before. Ethan gave a bleary-eyed look at his bookcase and again thought the letters on the book were glowing red. The voice said, "Even your mother thinks you did it. Sounded like she might even be proud of you. Proved you're a chip off the old block, eh?"

"But if I did, then I hurt Alec as well as Erik," he answered miserably. "He didn't deserve any thing. I was trying to protect him."

"Ah, well, accidents can happen when you don't really know what you're doing," the voice told him.

"And what if someone else was there. What if Pete had gotten there a few seconds sooner? I could have hurt him too."

"You're catching on," continued the voice. "Careless is as careless does, they say. Still, it's not your fault if you don't do it on purpose."

"A fat lot of good that will do Pete if I accidentally make a tree fall on him!" Ethan mused. "How can I make sure I never do anything like that again?"

"There is a way, you know," the voice said in a reassuring tone. "You already know what that is, I think."

"I do know...Kaaterskill," Ethan thought. "They teach people how to do magic properly there."

"Very good. Not only do you have the raw talent, you seem to have more common sense than people give you credit for."

"But do I really have to go so far away from my friends to avoid hurting people with magic?"

"Maybe you do. Life is a big adventure anyway. There are new friends you know nothing about waiting for you there. Besides, not only do you have talent and common sense, you know when something feels right. What do you feel now?

"I feel like I'm a danger to anyone around me, even my friends. And if I can do magic, I want to learn to do it well."

"Then you know what to do," the voice said. The letters on the cover of the book faded as Ethan drifted into sleep. For the second night in a row, he slept soundly and had no dreams to remember.


	4. In Old Solomon's Row

_Chapter Four_

_In Old Solomon's Row_

Monday morning dawned damp and misty in Madison. Ethan woke later than he had the day before and found his parents, Uncle Bertrand and Aunt Eilonwy already at the breakfast table when he came downstairs. They all turned to him as he entered the kitchen and he could see quiet concern in their faces.

"Good morning, Ethan," Diana said. "How are you feeling this morning?"

"I'm fine, Mom," Ethan said firmly.

"That's good, son," Griffin said. "Those cuts and scrapes not bothering you?"

"Not really," Ethan replied. "I mean, every once in a while they sting a little, but nothing major."

"Well come on then, have some breakfast," Diana urged him. "Getting some food into the system will do you good."

Ethan got himself some cereal, while Diana poured his orange juice. He devoured his breakfast, having seconds of cereal as well as an english muffin. The adults had already finished eating, but sat at the table sipping coffee and chatting, mostly small talk about old friends and family. Ethan was too busy eating to contribute much to the conversation.

"Guess I did need a good breakfast," he declared as he finished twenty minutes later and pushed his plate away. The sun had begun to burn through the mist and as Ethan remained at the table, the morning sunlight shone in on him. The adults stopped talking and looked at him; Diana thought to herself that he looked as though he'd aged two years in the past two days. Mungo jumped up on the table and eyed Ethan with interest. He felt their gazes and felt a bit awkward; but the attention also spurred him to say what was on his mind.

"I've been thinking, Dad and Mom," he began. "I know the idea of going away to school out East is kind of scary. I really like Madison and I have some good friends here."

"We understand, son," Griffin said. "It's not surprising that you'd want to stay here."

"No, wait, Dad, let me finish. I mean, I don't know anything more about Kaaterskill than what you told me yesterday. And the whole idea of being a wizard is only just beginning to sink in. But when I think about some of the strange things that have happened to me, it seems that the only explanation that makes sense is magic. And what happened last night...well, it scares me and mostly because I'm pretty sure that something inside me caused it. It's not like I wanted it to happen, at least not really, but it's as if there's a part of me that I can't control that made the light fall...Gee, I'm not doing a very good job of explaining."

"Oh, I think you're doing a fine job, Ethan," Eilonwy reassured him. "It's not easy describing something you're only vaguely aware of to begin with."

"Well, what I really want to know is this," the boy continued. "Will they teach me how to control that part of me at Kaaterskill? Because that's what I want more than anything else right now. If I was born with some kind of magic in me, I want to learn how to use it, and use it right."

"Son, Kaaterskill exists to do exactly that," Griffin said, as he realized what Ethan had decided. "There's no better place to learn the proper use of magic. And Cyrus Flyte is the finest headmaster in the school's history."

Ethan took a deep breath. "Then I know how to answer my letter from Professor Bancroft," he said slowly but firmly. "I need to tell him I'll be there for the fall term. If I'm a wizard, I want to be a good one. I'm going to Kaaterskill!"

"Oh, Ethan, if you're sure...," Diana began.

"I've never been so sure about anything, Mom," he told her.

"I'm very proud of you, Ethan," his mother continued. "That's not an easy decision...it's much harder for you than it was for any of us here. Your father and I will help you follow through on that decision."

"As will Eilonwy and I," Uncle Bertrand spoke, trying to sound grave though a wide grin had spread over his face. "And I'll warrant you'll be a darn fine wizard, too, once they've schooled you at Kaaterskill."

"Just one thing, Dad," Ethan added. "I don't know how to find an owl, to mail my answer back."

"Oh don't worry about that," Griffin said. "We'll get some parchment and a quill first; once you've written your note, I'll take care of getting an owl."

The kitchen was now bathed in sunlight. Ethan stood up and gave his mother a big hug, and he felt as though a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders. No matter how hard the road ahead might be, he no longer felt any doubt that he'd made the right choice. In the months ahead, he would often think back to that moment when he felt certain that he was following his destiny. And the memory of that certainty sustained him through experiences he could not have dreamed of before his eleventh birthday.

Uncle Bertrand went to his room, rummaged about and returned with a blank roll of parchment, a small bottle of ink and a long quill pen.

"Umm, Dad, am I supposed to write with that?" Ethan asked. "The only time I've tried writing with a quill was back in fourth grade when we were studying the Revolution. And all I managed were some really nice ink blots."

"You'll need to get used to it, Ethan," his father said with a bit of a smile. "It's what you'll use at Kaaterskill. You can take your time and practice a bit. Your letter needn't be long. You just have to tell them you're accepting their offer."

Uncle Bertrand coached Ethan on his quill writing for the next hour or so. Although his first run through the alphabet looked little better than ink blots, Ethan proved a quick study and he surprised himself as he wrote "_The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog_" quite legibly after half an hour or so. He worked out the wording of his letter with his father, then put quill to paper and wrote:

_July 14, 1995_

_Professor Herodotus Bancroft  
Director of Admissions  
Kaaterskill Academy of Magic_

_Dear Professor Bancroft:_

_Thank you for your kind offer of admission to Kaaterskill. _

_I am pleased to inform you that I will accept your offer. I will obtain the required books and supplies and report to school on the Wednesday following Labor Day._

_Sincerely,_

_Ethan Lloyd_

Griffin took the parchment roll, cut off the letter and then rolled it tightly. He then sealed the letter with wax and tied a piece of twine around it. Ethan wondered exactly how his father would summon an owl. Griffin slid the screen of the kitchen window up and stuck his head out briefly. Almost immediately, there was a rush of wings and a small reddish-brown screech owl landed on the windowsill. The owl preened its feathers briefly, then calmly allowed Griffin to attach Ethan's letter to its left leg. As soon as this was done, the owl leapt out and flew away.

"How did that owl know you needed a letter sent?" Ethan asked, astonished.

"Well, not all of them are that swift, of course," his father told him. "On the other hand, the Kaaterskill owls are among the brightest and I suspect this one sensed that you'd made up your mind. We must remember to pick you up an owl when we get the rest of your supplies."

And so Ethan made his decision official. The six weeks that followed were busy and bittersweet, as he prepared to go east yet tried to savor life in Madison while he still could. Ethan had a hard time explaining his plans to his friends, especially as he'd never before mentioned that his parents had gone to a boarding school out East. But they'd all seemed to accept his move as part of his family's tradition; over the rest of July and August, Ethan, Pete, Ryan and Justin were nearly inseparable. They even went to several--uneventful--Black Wolf games.

Meantime, Griffin and Diana had to work harder than ever to maintain their facade of muggle normalcy, as they spent most of their time worrying about Ethan's preparations and recalling their own school years. They explained Ethan's new school plans to Frank and Marion Abrams, who seemed a bit surprised but understanding.

The Belangers had apparated back to their home a week or so after Ethan announced he was going to Kaaterskill. "We're so proud of you, Ethan," Eilonwy had told him that evening, and both had assured him that they would do anything they could to help him with his transition. For the first time, Ethan stood with his parents in the backyard when Bertrand and Eilonwy departed. He shuddered a bit when they vanished with a loud bang, but was more curious than troubled about this method of transportation. And he was slightly disappointed when his father told him that no wizard learned apparation until he turned 16.

Ethan had read _Magical Beginnings_ from cover to cover by the end of July and was about to ask them if they had any other books about wizarding when Griffin told him the time had come to buy his books and other supplies. Ethan had been wondering when and how he was to do this.

"I know we've got some pretty unusual stores in Madison, Dad," he said skeptically. "But where can I possibly find this stuff?"

"You have to know where to look, Ethan," Griffin answered, enigmatically. "And in this case, I think we should look in Milwaukee. We might find some of your supplies around here, but the closest place to get it all will be in Old Solomon's Row. This Saturday we'll take the bus over and do all our errands."

Saturday rolled around and they headed over to where the Badger Bus departed for Milwaukee. Diana had to work that day, so she wished them luck and headed off to the Co-op.

"Be careful!" she said seriously.

"Don't worry, dear! We will," Griffin assured her. "See you this evening!"

Ethan had rarely been outside Madison in his life, but he had been to Milwaukee once with his parents to go to museums and shops. They'd taken the bus on that occasion, too, so he had a pretty good idea of what the trip would be like. Ethan and his father sat near the front of the bus, which was about half-full of a somewhat motley group of passengers: some college students, some commuters and a few disheveled men and women who appeared to be simply drifting from place to place. The bus rumbled off, making stops in several small towns between the two cities and pulling into the Cream City's bus terminal just over an hour later.

Ethan shaded his eyes as he descended from the bus; the bright sun reflected off the pavement and the concrete and glass buildings of downtown Milwaukee. He looked around in wonder, for to his eyes Milwaukee appeared to be a really big city compared to his hometown. The buildings were much taller than those in the center of Madison and it looked to Ethan as though the city went on forever. Even on a Saturday, the sidewalks were quite full of people bustling in all directions.

"We need to walk several blocks south," Griffin told his son. "So off we go."

Ethan stayed close by his father's side as they wound their way through downtown Milwaukee. Gradually they left the blocks of high-rise office buildings behind, crossing underneath the interstate highway. Ethan noticed that the street they were on, which had been a perfectly straight line, was now angling to the right. After a few blocks, he saw the reason for this change, as they approached a sleepy river that ran through the city on its way to Lake Michigan. They passed over the bridge and found themselves in a completely different cityscape. At first there seemed to be few buildings at all. There were railroad tracks and a few brick buildings isolated from each other by "urban renewal" projects. Ethan looked about but didn't see any likely sources for pewter cauldrons or black robes.

A few blocks later Ethan thought he had been transported into a different world. The buildings were not so tall, but were adorned with painted shutters, elaborately carved wooden doors, and cobblestone walks. A clock tower jutted out from a half-timbered building at one corner. They had entered one of the old German neighborhoods that had survived two world wars and now preserved the appearance of the city when half of Milwaukee's newspapers had been printed in German, and beer gardens and brass bands dominated the summer evenings. Ethan might have imagined that they had somehow crossed the ocean and traveled back in time, but for the fact that the cars on the street and people on the sidewalks looked completely modern.

"Are we almost there, Dad?" he asked Griffin. For it had been a long walk from the bus station in the warm sun and Ethan was starting to feel tired and hot.

"Almost, son. See that little tavern up ahead?"

Ethan looked at the next block, but didn't see a tavern. Confused, he looked again and this time saw what Griffin meant. In between a store selling fancy European goods and a pastry shop was a narrow building with an old sign that read "Blatz" in large white letters on what had once been a red background. Compared to the neatly preserved buildings along the street, Ethan felt this building appeared rather shabby. He thought to himself that it was no wonder he'd missed it at first glance. None of the other pedestrians seemed to pay the old tavern any notice.

"Dad, that doesn't look like the place to get my supplies. I mean, it's just an old bar, isn't it?"

"Just an old bar?" Griffin echoed, a sparkle in his eyes. "Well, we'll see what you think once we're inside."

When they reached the door, Ethan noticed a small sign in the only window that read "**Tavern der Zauberer**" Griffin grasped the handle, opened the door and ushered Ethan into a dim room with a long bar along its right side and a scattering of tables along the left. As his eyes became accustomed to the dark again, Ethan saw couple of dozen patrons in the tavern, about half at the bar. An elderly man in a brown plaid vest and a white shirt with ruffled sleeves presided behind the bar. Ethan saw that the attire of the tavern's customers seemed to match the old-world architecture of the neighborhood. There was a man with a long pointed beard, wearing a monocle and a bowler hat at one table. He was seated at a table with an elderly woman wearing a bright emerald cloak who seemed strangely familiar to Ethan.

"Well, bless me, if it isn't Griffin Lloyd!" exclaimed the barkeeper. "It has been more than a month of Sundays since you last darkened our doors. Welcome back! Can I pour you a lager?"

"Thanks, Sig, it's good to be here. Can't stop to socialize now, though. Have to take care of this young fellow's Kaaterskill list in the Row. Ethan, this is Siegfried Schumann. He's been running the tavern since before I was born."

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Schumann," Ethan said politely.

"And I'm pleased to meet you, Ethan," Herr Schumann replied, looking him over curiously. "I dare say you're your father's son, though it looks as though you've got your mother's eyes. It's been a long time since a young Lloyd passed through on his way to the Row. Good luck!"

"Thanks, sir," Ethan said.

Griffin was just about to move along when Ethan's eyes met those of the woman in the emerald cloak.

"I know you!" he said excitedly. "I saw you in Madison, crossing the street with the others. On my birthday!"

"Oh, Harriet, is that you?" Griffin said when he saw who Ethan was talking about. "Ethan, this is Harriet Frazee. A very well-known seer from Madison."

"Ah, yes, my young fellow, I do remember you. Nearly ran over us on your bicycle. I'm so sorry we couldn't stop and chat that day. But Herr Schumann's right...you do look to be a Lloyd. Good to meet you," she said, extending her wrinkled arm to shake Ethan's hand.

"Pleased to meet you, too" Ethan said, adding "I didn't mean to run you down on my bike, really. But I didn't know I was a wizard back then, either."

"Oh, don't worry about that," Harriet assured him. "We've known you were a wizard for some years now. Such matters do not escape the Inner Eye."

Ethan thought that sounded a bit ominous. But he didn't have time to dwell on it, for his father was now moving him down to the back end of the tavern. A long, narrow corridor led to restrooms on the right; they took a left at the end of the corridor and went out the back door. Ethan was now sure his father was either crazy or pulling his leg, for they emerged into a walled courtyard that seemed to be a dead end. There were a few tables and chairs on one side of the courtyard and several trash cans along the other side. The rear wall seemed to be painted, and as Ethan stepped closer he could see a mural depicting a street scene. The buildings reminded him of those on the street outside the tavern, most half-timbered, some with upper stories overhanging a cobblestone street. The images were faded, washed out in the bright sun, but he could see shop signs hanging from several of the buildings: a mortar and pestle on one, another in the form of a dragon, one with a black-robed figure. About half way down the street in the picture was an imposing, white-columned building, after which the street seemed to bend to the right so as to obscure its length. Ethan thought there might be several narrower alleys leading to either side of the main street. Here and there he saw knots of people, walking along the street, coming out of shops, looking into the windows and pointing. He realized they must be witches and wizards, for they were almost all dressed in robes and cloaks; some of the women wore pointed hats, some of the men wore old-fashioned top hats or bowlers.

Ethan, though fascinated by the old mural, could not see what this detour had to do with his supplies. He looked up at his father, who read the question in his eyes.

"Never fear, Ethan," Griffin said. "Let's see if I still remember the way in."

"The way into what?" Ethan asked, unable to contain his confusion.

Without answering, Griffin withdrew a wand from his pocket and looked intently at the mural. "Ah, right, that's it!" he said, half to himself, and then he pointed his wand at the second lamppost on the left side of the mural.

"Take my hand, Ethan, and come through with me," his father told him. "And don't worry about whether it makes sense."

Ethan had no idea exactly what his father had in mind, but he was beginning to drop his muggle-learned sense of what was possible or impossible. So he gripped his father's hand, perhaps more tightly then usual, and moved forward with him. Instead of feeling the solid wall that he had seen before him, Ethan felt as if he was walking into a cool sheet of water, only he didn't feel wet. He could still see the street from the mural in front of him, and it no longer seemed so faded and distant. In another moment, he felt as if he had emerged from underwater, and Ethan realized they had stepped right through the wall. Ethan looked around, blinking in amazement. He realized that they were standing in the old-fashioned street he had seen in the mural, with all of its half-timbered shops, curving away into the distance. The street was quite full of wizards and witches of all ages, most in robes and cloaks. The summer sun shone down here as it did on the muggle street adjacent, but there seemed to be no other connection. When Ethan turned around, instead of seeing the courtyard of the tavern, he saw the wall with a mural of the courtyard.

"Welcome to Old Solomon's Row, Ethan!" Griffin said, grinning at his son's delighted look. "Right here we should be able to find everything you'll need for school. But first, we'll have to stop at the bank and exchange money."

"Exchange money?" Ethan asked, still gawking right and left as they walked down the Row. "Don't they take dollars?"

"Nope, just galleons, sickles and knuts, Ethan," Griffin said. "The international wizarding currency. And of course, we kept an account with galleons here even while we've been in Madison. Luckily they'll exchange dollars for galleons at Gringotts. That's the wizarding bank; our branch is just up there." He pointed at the imposing three-story building adorned with large columns and statuary. On either side of the door stood the strangest people Ethan had ever seen, short, squat folk with long noses and ears and very long fingers.

"Who are they?" Ethan whispered, somewhat alarmed by the doorkeepers' grim appearance.

"Gringotts is operated by goblins, Ethan. The cleverest creatures for banking and anything that involves mathematics. But not the most friendly folk. They tend to be a bit suspicious."

They went inside, walking over the pink marble floors, past a line of goblin tellers behind brass wickets on the left. Griffin walked up to the first unoccupied teller, a goblin with a shock of white hair and a permanently quizzical expression on his face. The sign to the left of the wicket gave the goblin's name as Grimhawk. "How may I help you?" he asked.

"I've got some muggle money to exchange first," Griffin said. "Then I need to visit my vault; here is the key."

"Very well," Grimhawk replied, as Griffin handed over a stack of United States currency. The goblin counted it out, and then quoted the daily exchange rate. Next he withdrew from his cash drawer the corresponding amount of gold galleons, silver sickles and bronze knuts for the exchange. Ethan looked on curiously as Grimhawk slid the stack of coins over to Griffin, who placed them in a large leather purse he'd had in his back pocket. Then Grimhawk motioned for another goblin to escort them to the Lloyd vault. This goblin, who seemed a bit younger than Grimhawk and even more impassive, was named Lightstride. He led them to a large cart, in which they rode deep beneath the banking lobby to the vaults. Ethan had never imagined such a place: dark, damp, lit by huge torches, quiet except for the hurtling goblin carts, which seemed to move at an extremely high speed along the tunnels. Finally, the cart came to a halt next to a vault marked "744." Lightstride stepped out of the cart, followed by Griffin and then Ethan. The goblin called for the key. Griffin handed it over. Lightstride then opened the door. Inside the dark vault, Ethan could see large piles of the same type of coins his father had gotten upstairs.

"Dad, is all this yours?" he asked, for it seemed to him a vast treasure.

"Ours, son, your mother and I have left it alone for fourteen years now," Griffin said quietly. "We used the earnings from our muggle jobs for our expenses. Gringott's pays very good interest, so it's grown quite a bit over the years. We only need a little bit now."

With that, he scooped up another pile of coins and put them in a white cloth sack. Then they returned to the cart and Lightstride brought them back to the lobby. Griffin thanked him and the goblin nodded curtly and said, "Thank you for doing business with Gringott's, sir."

Back out on the street, Griffin said, "Let's have another look at that list, Ethan. Hmmm, let's take care of the wand first. Schlauermeister's, right across the street, is the place for that."

Over the door of the shop across the street was a sign with two crossed wands over the name "Schlauermeister" in an old German script. Beneath this was the motto, "The Midwest's Finest Wands Since 1794."

As he opened the door, Ethan was nearly bowled over by a hooded figure hurrying out of the wand shop. The black-robed wizard's face was nearly impossible to make out beneath the hood. He muttered something and scurried down the street.

Ethan and Griffin looked at each other in surprise, but neither said anything. They went inside. They were the only customers in the store, which was dimly lit with lanterns and smelled musty. There was a wide counter in the back of the room with a bell to one side. Behind this were several open cupboards filled with rows of cardboard boxes with handwritten labels on the end.

"Go ahead, son," Griffin said quietly. "Walk right up and ring the bell. Herr Schlauermeister must be around the corner."

After a moment, a short, balding man in shirtsleeves and an old vest and cravat appeared through a doorway to the right of the counter.

He shot Ethan a quizzical look, and then exclaimed: "Well, well, Mr. Lloyd. I expected you'd be in soon. Can't go off to Kaaterskill ill-equipped, can you?"

Ethan said nothing, taken aback by the shop owner's obvious familiarity with him.

"Well, come on now," Herr Schlauermeister said with a bit of impatience. "Step up and let's get you measured. Then we'll see how long your wand will take to find you."

Herr Schlauermeister came around to the front side of the counter, tape measure in hand. "Right-handed, are you?" he asked. Ethan nodded.

"Hold your arm straight out for me, yes, that's good." He began measuring Ethan in every way imaginable, beginning with the distance from his fingertips to his shoulders.

"So, Mr. Lloyd, what do you know about magic wands?"

"Well, I've read a bit about them. I know they're usually made of hardwoods and they have some magical substance in their center," Ethan answered, recalling a chapter from _Magical Beginnings_. At this point, Herr Schlauermeister was measuring the circumference of Ethan's head at eye level, which was a bit distracting.

"Well, that's good as far it goes, I suppose," the shop owner said, and he glanced at Griffin as he added, "Certainly more than I expected given your upbringing. I suppose you know then that there is a wand meant just for one wizard. Our challenge is to find the one that is meant for you, Mr. Lloyd"

He then turned to the cupboard and after a moment pulled out about a dozen boxes from various shelves and piled them on the counter. He opened one box, took out a cloth bag, untied it and slid out a cylindrical piece of wood, which he held out to Ethan.

Ethan, still bemused, took the wand and looked it over.

"Beechwood, 10 3/4 inches, with a dragon heart string in the core, Mr. Lloyd. Not unlike your father's, I believe. Go ahead; see what it does for you."

Ethan gave the wand a tentative wave, only to have Herr Schlauermeister pull it away and stuff it back into its pouch.

"No matter, let's try something more like your mother's. Let's see, yes, willow with phoenix feather, just over 8 inches. Nice and flexible."

He passed this wand over to Ethan, but quickly took it back as Ethan raised it.

"No, evidently not. Well, well, you've got to be your own man, after all. Try this one, tulip poplar with unicorn hair."

This wand was evidently not the right one, either, and the pattern repeated itself through the entire pile of twelve wands. Schlauermeister brought out a wand, naming its components, handing it to Ethan and snatching it back after one wave, or sometimes less.

Back he went to the shelves for more. Finally, about half way through the third pile of wands, Schlauermeister muttered to himself, "Well, it's not what one would expect, but maybe it's worth a try. Yes, why not?"

Turning to Ethan, he said, "Be careful with this one...yew, phoenix feather core, eleven and a half inches...quite unusual, quite powerful. Give it a good wave, now."

As Ethan grasped the wand and raised it over his head, he felt a tingling in his right arm and a warmth that spread up from his fingers. When he waved the wand, blue and gold sparks showered from the tip, lighting the dim shop for a moment.

"Well done, Mr. Lloyd, well done!" exclaimed Herr Schlauermeister gleefully. Ethan turned around and saw his father, who had stayed in the shadows near the door, beaming proudly at him. Ethan responded with a happy smile.

"It is a bit strange, though," Ethan heard the shop owner say, and he turned back toward the counter.

"Pardon me," Ethan said, "but _what_ is it that's strange?"

"You may not have read this, Mr. Lloyd, but wandmakers remember each wand they've ever made," Herr Schlauermeister said, looking intently at Ethan. "This wand was made with yew-wood imported from England many years ago. It is passing strange that you should be the first wizard in all those years who has been selected by a wand made of the wood of that tree. For from that same tree came the wood in the wand that chose the One Whom We Do Not Name. I doubted that any wand made of that wood would ever leave this store."

"You mean this is the same wood that's in Voldemort's wand?" Ethan asked soberly.

"Do not speak that name here, _please_, Mr. Lloyd!" Schlauermeister said with a scowl. "But yes, it is. I think we must expect you to be a wizard of some renown, Mr. Lloyd."

He raised an eyebrow as he looked at Ethan and concluded, "Though it remains to be seen whether for good or for evil."

Ethan wasn't certain he liked Herr Schlauermeister, but he was sure he didn't want to spend any more time in his shop. He looked around at his father, whose proud smile had turned to a thoughtful frown. Griffin stepped forward at last and paid Schlauermeister with 8 gold galleons. Then Ethan tucked the wand box under his arm and turned to go.

The shop owner cleared his throat and called after them.

"There's one more thing you should know, Mr. Lloyd. That last customer before you came in...strange bird, but he wanted to buy that wand you have there for himself. It was all wrong for him and now I know why. Remember, there's one wand that's specially attuned to each wizard and this one is for you. He was quite insistent, but I refused to sell it to him. A powerful wand can be a menace in the wrong wizard's hands. A most curious coincidence...Good day, Mr. Lloyd, and good luck!"

After the door shut behind them, Griffin said under his breath, "Curious coincidence, indeed! I wonder..."

"Dad, do you think it wasn't a coincidence?" Ethan asked, suddenly worried.

"I don't know, son," Griffin said. "I don't have an answer. But adult wizards generally know better than to buy a wand that's not meant for them. You heard what Herr Schlauermeister said--this wand was destined for you and no one else. Anyway, let's get your books, then your cauldron and instruments and then your robes."

Off they went up the Row to a store called _Quill and Scroll_, where Ethan found the books on his list, as well as some writing supplies for practice. It was a fascinating place for Ethan, quite unlike any other book store he'd seen. Although all of the required books on his list were fairly normal, there were others in the store that sang, screamed or recited when opened, and others that could move on their own, scuttling about like crabs. At the checkout, Griffin picked up a newspaper called _The Wizard's Daily Sentinel_ and paid for that and the books.

At _Armstrong and Zimmer, Magical Instruments_, Ethan bought his cauldron, scales, telescope and phials. He couldn't resist stopping into _Adelma's Apothecary Arts_, even though his letter said that the school would provide all potion-making supplies. Here there were barrels with slimy animal byproducts, herbs of all sorts in neat tins and packets, and things Ethan couldn't identify. He picked up a silver-grey cone-shaped item from a basket and asked his father what it was.

"Unicorn horn," Griffin answered nonchalantly, amused as Ethan's jaw dropped.

"But dad, unicorns are mythical creatures," Ethan said in disbelief, "Aren't they?"

"Well, all good muggles certainly know that," his father replied. "And we'd like to keep it that way. They're in enough demand as it is. Horns really aren't available too often, which explains the price. 35 galleons, aargh!"

They did find dragon-hide gloves at a good price, and crossed them off their list.

On they went towards the clothing store, which was back near the wall of the tavern. Before they got there, Griffin looked to the right and saw the sign for _Bane and Sons, Familiar Creatures_, and changed course suddenly.

"Can't go to Kaaterskill without your animal, Ethan," he said cheerily. When they came out twenty minutes later, Ethan was carrying a large cage with a large barn owl inside. They reached _Wizard Wear, Gentleman's Furnishings_, and stepped inside. Here Ethan was fitted for his school robes. There were several other youngsters being served and Ethan wondered whether any of them were going to Kaaterskill.

Along with the robes, he got his hat and cloak at _Wizard Wear_. At last, everything on the list was checked off.

"We should just have time for a bite at the Tavern before going back to the bus station," Griffin said as they hurried back to the wall. Burdened with their purchases, it was a bit harder going back through the wall, but soon enough there they were in the courtyard. Returning to the tavern, Griffin chose a table in the back and tucked Ethan's bags in the corner.

Herr Schumann came over to take their order. Father and son ordered sandwiches; Griffin had a lager beer and Ethan had an ice-cold pumpkin juice for the first time. After spending the afternoon walking around in the hot sun, this refreshed Ethan like no other drink he'd ever had. If this was what wizard food was like, he thought, he could get used to it.

"Just wait 'til you have some butterbeer," Griffin told him. "There's nothing better on a cold winter afternoon...especially when you have to study for three exams the next day!"

"Three exams in one day?" Ethan asked. He'd had so many new experiences to think about that he'd forgotten that Kaaterskill was a school and that he'd be studying subjects completely new to him. "Do you really think I can do this, Dad?"

"I know you can Ethan," his father said. "Just remember, work hard but leave some time out for fun and exploration."

Just then a tall wizard walked into the tavern from the direction of the Row. He was the most elegant-looking man Ethan had ever seen. His robe was purple with gold stars and moons; as he entered the room, he swept a beaver top hat from his head and placed it over a gold-tipped cane. His shirt had a ruffled neck and he wore a purple tie with a gold tie clip in the form of the letter "B." He strode over to the bar and ordered a drink.

"Yes, sir, Mr. Barghest, coming right up," Herr Schumann said smartly. The tall wizard sat down on a barstool and turned to survey the room. When his eye fell on Griffin and Ethan, he raised one eyebrow and smiled in a most unpleasant way. Once Schumann brought his drink, he stood and walked briskly over to the corner.

"Hello, Lloyd, old friend," he said smoothly. "So the rumors are true, then. All over the Row today people were twittering about your return. I never believed those who said you'd died at the hands of the Dark Lord's followers."

"I suppose I should thank you for your kind thoughts, Lothar," Griffin said icily. "But I note that you didn't say you were glad to see me."

"Oh, quite to the contrary, Griffin," the other man replied. "I am most glad to see you in the land of the living. It would have been a shame for the wizarding world to lose such a...knowledgeable wizard as yourself. And Diana, I trust she is well too?"

"Just fine, thank you," Griffin answered shortly.

"And this fine young man, I take it he's your son?"

Griffin nodded, and the other man extended his hand to Ethan.

"Lothar Barghest, I am honored indeed to meet the progeny of Griffin and Diana Lloyd."

Ethan shook hands and said, "I'm Ethan Lloyd, pleased to meet you, sir."

Barghest held Ethan's hand for a long moment. He fixed his grey eyes on Ethan, who felt as though this tall wizard was trying to look deep into his soul. Ethan held the gaze defiantly. After what seemed a long time, Barghest finally turned to Griffin.

"I must say, there is a definite family resemblance," he said at last and then added "The street talk was that you've raised this lad among muggles, Lloyd. I trust that's not true. I wouldn't expect such low behavior from one of your background."

Ethan was beginning to dislike this suave wizard intensely. Griffin flushed a bit as he answered.

"You and I may have very different ideas of what constitutes low behavior among wizards, Lothar," he said tensely. "How I raise my child is my business."

"Just so, my friend," Barghest murmured. "That's entirely your affair. But now I suppose you need to make up for lost time? Kaaterskill, is it, Ethan?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very good! Keeping up the family tradition, and all that," Barghest said. "It _will_ be quite a challenge for you, but I'm sure your heritage will help you overcome any deficiencies in your upbringing."

Ethan realized that this comment was an insult disguised as a compliment.

"My parents have taught me how to do my best, and I think that will be good enough," he said boldly.

"Ah, I see you have the Lloyd spirit, too," Barghest said. "I do hope you manage to avoid the family tendency for courting danger."

Griffin looked at his watch and cleared his throat.

"Well, Lothar, it's been awfully nice renewing your acquaintance," he said, "but we really must be on our way. Come on, Ethan, let's get your things."

"I do hope we'll be seeing more of you, Griffin," Barghest said as he headed back to the bar. "And you, young man, remember, I am at your service should you ever need me. Making your way in the wizarding world can be a confusing business. Do be careful, both of you. Evil times seem to be upon us again. Good day!"

Griffin left several coins on the table. He and Ethan shouldered their burdens again and slipped out the front door of the tavern back onto Third Street. Ethan found the return to the muggle world jarring; he blinked in the sun as he looked around and found that everything looked completely normal, that is to say non-magical. As they walked away, he turned around to look at the tavern; it seemed to him that the sign in the window gradually faded away. Ethan looked again when they were a block down the street and he couldn't even make out the door to the Tavern der Zauberer.

A few passersby gave Griffin an odd look as he carried the cage with the barn owl. This was not an everyday sight in Milwaukee. Eventually, he decided it would be less distracting to cover the bird's cage with its drape.

"We've just about enough time to make the bus home, Ethan," Griffin said. "So let's walk briskly now. "

"Ok, dad," Ethan said. "But can I ask about Mr. Barghest?"

"Not now, Ethan," Griffin answered firmly. "Maybe when we're back on the bus. We haven't time now."

So they hurried back across the river and returned past the office towers to the bus depot. They reached it just as the bus from Madison pulled up, and they were the first to board for the return trip. This time, Griffin headed for the back of the bus. There were fewer passengers than on the morning trip and they had room to spread out a bit. That was good, since the owl cage took up a whole seat by itself.

When they were well on their way, Ethan decided it was safe to ask his father questions again.

"So, Dad, can you tell me what's up with Mr. Barghest?"

"He was in school with your mother and me," Griffin replied. "Let's just say he and I weren't close then and we took different paths after school."

"What do you mean?" Ethan asked.

"Well, as you know, I went to work hunting dark wizards. So did your mother. We were dedicated---some would say obsessed--with defeating He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Lothar, on the other hand...well, we were never able to prove it, but there was a strong suspicion that he was in league with You-Know-Who."

"And he's still free to walk around?" Ethan sounded incredulous.

"As I said, Ethan, there was no proof," Griffin continued. "And Lothar's from a very old and very wealthy family of wizards. He has a lot of influential friends. I'm sure he's spent the last fourteen years strengthening his friendships."

"I know it sounds weird, Dad, but it felt like he was trying to look right inside my mind when he was looking at me."

Griffin looked at him sharply.

"Are you sure, Ethan? The Barghests _do_ have a family history of legilimency...that is the ability to read others' thoughts and memories. It's much more than what the muggles call "mind-reading." I wasn't aware that Lothar himself was a legilimens, but I've been out of touch for so long, one never knows."

"But if he were doing that, what could he learn from me? I don't know anything important," Ethan said. "Although to tell you the truth, I also felt that I was keeping him from doing legil...whatever it's called."

"Very interesting," Griffin said quietly. "I think that you may surprise a lot of people, including yourself, Ethan."

"Was it dangerous for you to be in Old Solomon's Row today, Dad?" Ethan asked.

"I don't know, Ethan. Not particularly, I don't think. I may be out of practice, but I can take care of myself," he replied. "It's you I worry about more than me. But you're safe with me...and there's no safer place than Kaaterskill."

The bus pulled into Lake Mills, the last stop before Madison. Two or three passengers departed, and then they headed off, the western sun shining off the windshield.

Ethan yawned; it had been a long day and his mind was filled with strange sights and strange thoughts. He had one more question for Griffin.

"Dad, Mr. Barghest said that all the people in Old Solomon's Row were talking about you? Why would they care if you suddenly reappeared?"

"Well, Lothar may have been exaggerating a bit," Griffin answered. "But then, your mother and I were involved in one of the stranger incidents in the war against You-Know-Who and were quite well known...briefly, thank goodness. And we've not been seen for fourteen years. I gather there was a lot of idle speculation about what had happened to us, and then we were forgotten. Which was exactly what we hoped for; being a daily topic in the _Sentinel_ is no picnic. Like this, for example."

Griffin had opened his newspaper and pointed to an article with the headline, "DUMBLEDORE DROPPED BY WIZENGAMOT--Potter ties rumored cause. (from _The Daily Prophet_)." Two photographs accompanied the article, one of a group of wizards seated behind a long table, the other of a white-haired wizard with half-moon glasses and mischievous eyes. What fascinated Ethan was the fact that the people in the pictures were moving: the wizards around the table seemed to conferring urgently, while the old wizard beamed as he looked from side to side, then stifled a yawn.

"Here are our press people, working to discredit the greatest wizard in the world today. And apparently doing rather well at it, all because he believes this Potter boy, who says he's seen You-Know-Who. If they can do that to Dumbledore, they'd make mincemeat out of me."

"But now that you've been seen in public, will the newspaper people or people like Barghest, be able to find you?"

"Well, it will be easier for them to know our general whereabouts," Griffin said, "but as long we continue the routine we've been doing for the last 14 years, they won't be able to actually find us. There won't be any reporters at the door."

"That's good," remarked Ethan, but he was thinking to himself that their little trip to Milwaukee had turned out to be more complicated than any other errand he'd ever done.

When the bus pulled into Madison, Griffin and Ethan trudged home with their packages.

They crossed the Yahara and came to their little bungalow on Jenifer Street. Griffin opened the door and called to Diana, "Well, we're home." They told her about the day's adventures over dinner and all slept well that night.


	5. A Journey on MagiTrak

_Chapter Five: _

_A Journey on MagiTrak_

As the summer evenings grew shorter, so the time approached for Ethan's departure to Kaaterskill. Over the last week of August, he revisited his favorite haunts: Law Park, the comic book shop, the Farmers' Market and the Co-op. The Lloyds and the Abrams shared a meal at the frozen custard place overlooking Lake Monona.

Diana made sure that Ethan's trunk was packed with clothes sufficient for the term, all with tags carefully marked "Ethan Lloyd." Of course, she also packed his robes, hat and cloak. Ethan slipped in the box containing his wand and wondered how the trunk could possibly hold all the other supplies he'd bought. The scales, phials, gloves and telescope were all packed inside the cauldron. Nevertheless, Ethan was surprised to find that the cauldron and all the books seemed to fit easily inside the trunk.

When he asked his father about it, Griffin answered slyly, "Yes, that trunk always did seem nice and roomy."

Ethan had named his owl Bucky, after the university's mascot. The bird seemed happy with the name, and gave Ethan an affectionate peck and strutted about proudly when called.

At breakfast one morning, Griffin explained the travel arrangements to Ethan.

"First, I'll take you to Chicago the day after Labor Day. That's the nearest place to catch MagiTrak," he began. "From there it's an overnight trip to Hoboken. A special boat leaves from the terminal there and goes directly to Platteclove Landing. That's where the school wagons pick you up for the trip up the clove to Kaaterskill."

"Do I sleep on the train, Dad?" Ethan asked.

"Yes indeed," Griffin continued. "On this trip, they'll probably have a sleeper car reserved for students heading to Kaaterskill."

"Who else uses the train? I mean, adult wizards can just apparate, can't they? or use a broom?"

"Well, they can go other ways," his father replied patiently. "But this is a big continent. It takes a lot of skill and energy to apparate accurately from the Pacific coast to the Atlantic. And brooms are marvelous, but going across the continent that way takes a long time and can really wear one out. A lot of wizards and witches prefer to travel more comfortably and MagiTrak fits the bill."

On Labor Day, the Abrams' had their traditional barbecue. The Lloyds, Spencer-Blacks and Morgans were all invited, so the boys had one more chance to get together before Ethan headed east and the others started at O'Keefe Middle School.

Griffin had arranged to have Frank Abrams drive them to campus the next morning, where the Chicago bus departed. Pete went along to see Ethan off and as they stood on the sidewalk in front of the student union they speculated on what the new school year would bring each of them.

"I've heard Mrs. Schwartzberg's really tough," Pete said. "So you're probably lucky you're going to school in New York."

"I don't know," Ethan demurred. "Dad says the schoolwork can be really hard at Kaaterskill. I'll probably wish I had Mrs. Schwartzberg."

"Well, at least you get to have an owl at school," Pete said. "You wouldn't see that at O'Keefe."

"No, I guess not," Ethan agreed. "Hey, here comes the bus!"

The coach pulled up and discharged a few passengers. Griffin and Frank brought Ethan's trunk over to the curb.

Diana gave Ethan a big hug.

"Take care of yourself, Ethan," she said, holding back tears. "Time to begin your big adventure!"

"Yeah, mom, I'll let you know how things go," Ethan said, giving her a kiss.

"Good luck, Ethan!" said Frank Abrams, shaking his hand. "I'm sure you'll do well."

"Well this is it, Lloyd!" Pete said as he gave Ethan a hug too. "Be sure you write...I want to know all about what you're up to."

"OK, Pete! And make sure you keep the bullies under control," Ethan said, high-fiving his friend and turning to join Griffin getting on the bus.

Griffin had Bucky's cage as he gave the driver their tickets. The driver took a look at the owl cage and Ethan saw him open his mouth to speak. Ethan was sure that he was going to tell them Bucky couldn't get on the bus. But Griffin gave the man a sudden, sharp look and the driver just smiled and directed them aboard.

Ethan took a window seat where he could wave to his mother, Frank and Pete as the bus pulled away. As the bus wound through downtown Madison on the way to the interstate, Ethan took mental note of each familiar landmark they passed and wondered when he'd see them again.

Then Madison slipped behind them, followed by the flat farmlands of southeastern Wisconsin. Not far across the Illinois line, the farms began to give way to office parks and suburbs as the bus rolled on towards Chicago. Ethan found the new landscape interesting if not attractive; having spent almost all of his eleven years in Madison, things like toll booths and elevated trains were novelties to him. He noticed that the houses were getting closer and closer to each other and residential neighborhoods were broken up by shopping strips and run-down industrial buildings. As they passed the airport, Ethan could see huge jetliners taxiing next to the roadway. Ethan couldn't see the city center yet, but he knew that they must be getting close to their destination.

"You seem quiet, Ethan," his father said. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm OK, Dad," Ethan said, emerging from his reverie. "I guess I'm just thinking that there's an awful lot I don't know."

"Well, that's true enough," Griffin said. "We can all say that, though. You're at the beginning of a journey, an adventure as your mother said. What you don't know now, well, that's for learning."

The bus now turned off the expressway onto city streets. It wound around several blocks and pulled up outside a massive stone building with a long colonnade along one side.

"Union Station," the driver announced.

Ethan and Griffin, carrying Bucky's cage, filed off the bus with the rest of the passengers and waited for the trunk to be unloaded from the baggage compartment.

They walked together into the station, and Ethan gaped at the barrel-vaulted ceiling, light streaming in through the high arched windows. Griffin led the way through the crowds.

"Let's grab a bite to eat," he suggested. "There's quite a bit of time yet before your train leaves."

They found a hamburger stand, got lunch and sat down at an adjacent table. As they ate, Griffin gave Ethan some last instructions for the trip.

"I'll see you onto the platform, Ethan," he said, pulling an envelope out of his pocket. "These are your tickets. The top one is for the train, and the other is for the steamboat tomorrow. Keep these safe. And here's some cash for the trip. There's enough here for your meals, tips for the porter and a bit more just in case."

Ethan took the ticket envelope and the bag of coins and stuffed them into his pockets.

"Now, the trip should be smooth; the train only makes a few stops--Fort Wayne, Cleveland, Buffalo and Scranton--and some of those are in the middle of the night.," Griffin continued. "If you need anything, your porter will be able to help. Oh, and I think it would be wise for your to keep your wand with you when you leave your room."

Ethan thought this odd, as the wand was neatly tucked into its box inside the trunk. But he just said,"OK, Dad, if you think I should."

"And remember, Ethan," Griffin added, looking around them warily. "Keep your guard up. There are all sorts who use the train. Be careful."

"Yes, dad, I'll be careful."

"Good, now, look at the ticket. What track does it say your train leaves from?"

Ethan slid the ticket from its envelope and read, "MagiTrak Hoboken Limited, Track 99Q. 6:00 PM." He looked up at the list of trains on the kiosk next to their table. "That's odd. I don't see the train listed, Dad. There's a 5:55 to Fox Lake and the Lake Shore Limited to Boston at 6:15. And there's nothing listed on Track 99Q."

"Not to worry, son," Griffin assured him. "MagiTrak may use the same station as Amtrak, but that fact's not generally advertised. You'll see where 99Q is soon enough."

They explored the station a bit, looking into shops and getting an ice cream. Just before 5:30, Griffin led Ethan out towards the departure platforms. They passed through the automatic doors for Tracks 14 and 16 and strode down the platform between the two tracks. A sleek modern Amtrak locomotive faced them on Track 16 to the right. Track 14 was vacant to the left.

Pylons were spaced every twenty feet or so down the middle of the platform. They had advertisements attached to the top, just above stencils of the track numbers, "14-16." As he carried Bucky's cage, Ethan started to wonder where his father was leading him when they stopped between the seventh and eighth pylons.

"This should be it," his father said. Ethan saw that the stencil on the next pylon read "99 Q" instead of "14-16." As he watched, a balding middle-aged man with a leather suitcase rushed past them up the platform...and walked straight into the pylon.

"Yes, this _is_ it," Griffin said. "Your platform is that way, Ethan. Keep a good hold on the cage and just walk right through. Keep moving, I'll be right behind you."

"OK, Dad," Ethan said. By now he was willing to ignore the fact the pylon looked quite solid. He took a deep breath and walked ahead. As he reached the pylon, he felt himself moving straight through it. He found himself on an entirely different platform with a sign painted in gold letters on burgundy, "Track 99Q Train departs 6:00 PM."

As Griffin emerged behind him, Ethan looked around. Behind him was a brick pylon. Ahead on the platform was a small crowd of people, some in wizard robes, and others in muggle clothes. And on the track to the left was a shining streamlined locomotive with a large headlight right on top. Emblazoned on its nose was a logo, "MagiTrak/Hoboken Limited."

"Here's your train, son," Griffin said, beaming. "It's always been a favorite of mine. You know, in some ways I wish I was taking it with you."

"Looks pretty cool, dad," Ethan agreed. "Has it changed at all since you went to school? It looks brand new to me."

"She looks as well-kept as ever," Griffin said as they walked alongside the train. "Now what car's your compartment in?"

Ethan looked at the ticket and said, "Car number ten, compartment 8."

"About half way back then," Griffin calculated. "There's the dining car. You'll be about four cars behind that."

When they reached the tenth car, Griffin turned the trunk over to a porter. He lugged the trunk; Ethan started to follow him, but he felt his dad's hand on his shoulder.

"This is where I leave you, Ethan," he said. "Good luck, son! Your mother and I will be thinking about you...we know you'll do your best. Don't let anything get you down."

Ethan had realized the moment of farewell would come, but now that it had arrived, he felt a great reluctance to say goodbye to his father and get aboard. He hugged him tight, setting Bucky down on the platform.

"There, there, Ethan," Griffin comforted him. "It's not really goodbye, you know. We'll be with you in spirit. Use Bucky to keep in touch. And be sure to send along a note for Pete when you do."

"Yeah, I will, dad," Ethan said. "I didn't know how to tell him that Kaaterskill didn't have a US post office. I'll be OK. See you at the end of the term!"

Ethan let his arms slide away from Griffin; he lifted the owl cage again and stepped on board the Hoboken Limited. He waved once to his father, and then followed the porter along the corridor inside the sleeper.

More than half-way down the car, the porter slid the trunk into a room on the right. As he passed, Ethan slipped a silver sickle into his hand.

"Thanks very much, sir. Safe journey, now," the porter smiled.

Ethan reached the compartment door and entered.

"You must be Ethan Lloyd," said a voice within. "Am I glad to see you at last!"

Ethan turned and saw that the voice belonged to a boy about his age, taller and stockier. Brown hair curled over his head; a warm smile lit up his face, which looked weathered for one so young. The most striking thing about his appearance was the intense green of his eyes.

"I'm Tim Van der Meulen," the boy said, stretching his hand out. "Welcome aboard!"

"Hi, Tim," Ethan said as he shook the boy's hand. "But how do you know my name?"

"The conductor has the list, and I got him to tell me who my roommate would be," Tim explained. "I've been on since Winnipeg and it gets a bit boring, you know."

"I suppose it would," Ethan agreed. "Hey, there's my dad on the platform!"

He waved to Griffin, who apparently couldn't see in through the tinted windows. Just then the train began moving very slowly down the platform. Ethan watched his dad wave. Then to his surprise, Griffin stood up straight, waved once more and disappeared.

Tim, who'd been watching out the window, exclaimed, "Whoa! Where'd he go?"

Ethan, who'd never seen his parents travel that way, said with a mixture of worry and envy, "It's called disapparation. He's already home in Madison, I'd guess. You and I aren't allowed to travel that way 'til we turn 17. It took us 2 1/2 hours to get here by bus, and he's gone just like that."

"Amazing," Tim said as the train picked up speed and left the platform behind. "So is your mother a witch as well?"

"What?" Ethan asked distractedly. "Oh, yes, she's a witch and dad's a wizard. What about you?"

"No, my dad's a farmer and mom's a housewife...well, a farm wife really, that's not the same," Tim said. "Were they ever surprised to find out exactly why I was so different!"

"So you didn't know you were a wizard?" Ethan asked, becoming more interested in his new traveling companion.

"Nope. Not until the owl dropped my letter on the front stoop," Tim said. "At first none of us knew what to make of it. But it explained a lot, really."

"Yeah, I'll bet it did. That happened when I got my letter, too," Ethan commented.

"But hang on," Tim looked confused. "Didn't you say your parents are magic folk?"

"A long story," Ethan said, realizing for the first time that it would seem strange to muggle-born and magic-born alike. "But my parents live in the muggle world--in Madison, Wisconsin-- and they'd never told me anything about magic or wizards until my birthday this July."

"Wow, that must have been weird," Tim said. "Me, I'm the only wizard in the family, so far anyway."

"Do you have brothers and sisters?" Ethan asked.

"Five all told. An older brother, 18; older sister, 16. Both as non-magical as can be. I'm third. And two younger brothers, 9 and 6. And the youngest is my 3-year old sister. No magic from them yet, but who knows?"

"Where are you from, Tim?"

"Eastgrove, Saskatchewan," he replied. "That's about two hundred miles southeast of nowhere in the wheat belt."

"I don't know much about Canada...but is Winnipeg close to your farm?" Ethan continued.

"No, it was a long day's drive to Winnipeg," Tim answered. "'Course no one really objected. The whole family came along to see me off, except for Marvin, he's my oldest brother. Someone had to stay to look after the farm. The rest got a chance to visit the big city."

"So is Winnipeg as big as Chicago? I've never seen a city like this one," Ethan said, again looking out at the urban scene passing slowly by their window.

"Well they call it the Chicago of the Prairies and it's plenty big compared to Eastgrove."

"You said your letter explained a lot," Ethan looked back at the curly-headed farm boy. "Did funny things happen to you before you knew?"

"Oh yeah," Tim grinned. "I mean on the farm we started helping out with chores when we were about four. And my mom always said I had a knack for getting into tight spots...and then getting out of them. We have just a few cows...wheat's our real business. Somehow one day when I was in the cow barn, I ended up in the stall with a cow that felt like kicking. Next thing I knew I was up in the hay loft...no ladder, and no, the cow didn't kick me there."

"I know the feeling," Ethan said.

"And then there was a time when I was about 6 and I was out in the field. Dad was driving the combine. When he stopped, I lost my balance getting down and fell; it must have been 20 feet to the ground. He was petrified I'd killed myself. But guess what? I just bounced...like a soccer ball, right back up. Anyway, when they started looking into my letter, it all began to make sense."

"So what do they think...I mean about magic?"

"At first they didn't really know what to think. But Dad says farmers have always believed in magic," Tim said. "Even if they farm hundreds of acres with huge machines and satellite positioning, they still believe that throwing seeds over the right shoulder under a full moon will bring a good harvest. So he figures having a wizard in the family might be a good thing. When he and Mom took me to Calgary to get my things, that's when they really started believing this was all real."

The train had left the Chicago yards by now and picked up speed. Suburbs passed by quickly as the Limited headed for Fort Wayne. The skies, which had been sunny in the city, turned dark as the train caught up with a line of thunderstorms.

"That's a real nice owl," Tim said admiringly.

"His name's Bucky," Ethan said. "Yours looks pretty neat, too. What kind is it?"

Tim had hung his owl's cage from a hook in the ceiling of the compartment. An exceedingly dignified owl, mostly grey with black markings was looking over the boys with intense eyes.

"She's a Great Gray," Tim said proudly. "Her name's Evangeline. Of course, a month ago I didn't know one owl from the next. I'm picking up quite a bit though. Bucky's a barn owl, right?"

"Sure is," said Ethan. Bucky turned to Tim and hooted appreciatively.

Just then a high-pitched voice rang through the car: "Dinner is now being served in the dining car. The first seating is available presently. Second seating will be at 7:30 and the third seating will be at 8:15. The dining car crew looks forward to serving you this evening. Thank you."

"Do you want to eat now?" Ethan asked.

"Definitely!" Tim answered. "Wait 'til you see the dining car...and the food! You have to share the table with whoever else is eating, but it's worth it."

"OK, lead the way," Ethan said. As he was about to leave the compartment his eyes fell on his trunk and he remembered his father's words--"I think it would be wise for you to keep your wand with you." He couldn't see what there was to worry about, but decided to follow Griffin's advice. "Wait, just a minute, Tim."

Ethan opened the trunk, slipped the wand out of its box and put it in his front right pocket. Leaving the room, he closed the door behind him and followed his new friend towards the front of the train. He caught quick glimpses of passengers in other rooms: some clearly students, adult couples, some wizards in pin-striped business robes.

Two more sleepers were immediately ahead of theirs; the third car forward was the lounge. A compact bar was in one corner; three somewhat unkempt wizards sat on high stools there, smoking pipes and enjoying mugs of beer. Other passengers sat in overstuffed chairs arranged randomly around the car. Passing into the dining car, Ethan and Tim soon found themselves at the end of the dinner line.

"Not too bad. Looks like we'll get in on this seating," Tim observed. Four or five passengers were ahead of them; a few moments passed and several more came up behind them. In a few minutes, the host beckoned to them and ushered them to seats at a table for four.

At first Ethan thought the host was a goblin, as he had ridiculously long ears and an extremely pointy nose. But his eyes seemed ready to pop out of his head, he was shorter than the goblins Ethan had seen at Gringott's and he seemed ready to go to any lengths to please the diners, a trait that seemed out of character with goblins.

"Good evening, young masters, welcome," the host said as he seated them. "Name's Ripley and I's your host tonight. Ripley trusts this table will be satisfactory?"

"Looks perfect," Tim replied.

"Excellent, sir, excellent. Here is our menu card for tonight. Please to mark your choices on the card, and we will be most pleased to serve you, most pleased indeed."

Ethan looked over his menu and exclaimed at the extent and variety of the available dishes. No fewer than 5 soups, 3 salads, 10 entrees and 10 desserts were listed. The beverages included familiar choices such as milk and cola, but pumpkin juice and butterbeer also featured.

"Do you recommend anything?" he asked Tim.

"Well, last night, I had the pumpkin soup, rib roast with mashed potatoes and sweet potato tart for dessert. And butterbeer, now there's something new that's really good!" his companion said. "Tonight I think I'm having roast pheasant, squash and bilberry pie."

Ethan pondered his choices and finally settled on the egg drop soup, salmon steak grilled with magical herbs, mashed potatoes and pumpkin pasties. He'd heard so much about butterbeer that he had to try that.

When he'd marked his menu, Ethan set it down and waited for a server to come take his order. But as soon as they placed their cards on the table, Ethan was astonished to see full bowls of soup, a basket of breads and two large mugs of butterbeer appear before him.

Tim grinned at the look on Ethan's face.

"Now I know what I must have looked like last night," he said. "Couldn't you get used to this kind of service? The diner's run by house elfs."

"So that's what Ripley is, eh?" Ethan asked. "I didn't think he was a goblin."

The boys ate eagerly. Ethan had always been a fairly adventurous eater and he was especially hungry on this night. They watched the rain coming down in torrents outside the window; distant but dramatic bolts of lightning illuminated the flat farmland as it passed by.

Just as their main dishes had appeared on their plates, Ripley ushered two more passengers to the other side of the table. One was a tall wizard with a Roman nose, raven hair and a walking stick. The other was a blonde witch, petite, with intense brown eyes.

"May we join you?" the wizard asked politely. Tim just nodded, his mouth full of pheasant. Ethan said, "Certainly, please do."

"Splendid. Dinner does look good tonight, I must say," the wizard said as he sat down. "I'm Malcolm Hastings and this is my sister, Eliza."

"Tim Van der Meulen."

"And I'm Ethan Lloyd."

Ethan was too busy consuming salmon to notice the curious look the newcomers exchanged when they heard his name.

"You two must be headed to school," Eliza Hastings guessed.

"Yes, we're on our way to Kaaterskill," Tim volunteered.

"Ahhh. Your first time, then?" Malcolm Hastings asked, as he surveyed the menu and began marking his choices.

"Right," Ethan answered.

"You're both going a long way from home, aren't you?" Eliza asked.

"That's for sure, I'm from Saskatchewan, " Tim replied.

"And you, Ethan, where's your home?" her brother asked.

"Oh, I'm from Madison, Wisconsin," he said. "Where are you two from?"

"Us? Oh we're on our way from St. Louis to New York...some family business to attend to," Malcolm said. "What do you think of the train, boys?"

"Very cool," Tim affirmed. "I mean, my whole family are muggles, so this is all pretty new to me. But I really love it so far."

"Yes, this must be a bit of culture shock for you, Tim," Eliza said. Just then the Hastings' soups appeared and they began to eat.

After a few minutes silence, Malcolm Hastings cleared his throat and asked,"What about you Ethan? Are you from a muggle family, too?"

"Oh, no, sir. My mom's a witch and my dad's a wizard," he said. "But we do live with muggles, so I don't know much more about magic than Tim."

Hastings raised one eyebrow as he swallowed a spoonful of soup. Then he continued, "Live with muggles, do you? That's odd. I have nothing against them, you understand, but I wouldn't want to live with them."

"Well," Ethan said as his mug of butterbeer refilled itself and two pumpkin pasties appeared on his plate, "To tell you the truth, I don't think they would have chosen it, but they kind of had to."

"Had to?" Eliza echoed. "Why ever was that, Ethan?"

"Well, it was back before I was born, so I'm not really sure," he answered. "But I think they were afraid of being attacked by Vol-, I mean He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

Tim had been silent for a while, concentrating on finishing two slices of bilberry pie topped with whipped cream. But now he looked at Ethan with great interest.

"Wait a minute," he said. "I've only read about this in the history book we bought, but your parents fought against the Dark Lord? What did they do?

"Like I said, I don't really know for sure," Ethan said. "I think they'd gotten something You-Know-Who wanted. They left it in a safe place, but they used some sort of spells to basically drop out of sight."

"Extraordinary, my dear boy!" Malcolm Hastings exclaimed as he began working on his Chicken Kiev. "You must be very proud of them!"

"Well, I suppose I am," Ethan said. "Of course, I didn't even know I was a wizard until July, so I've really only just learned about my parents since then, too."

"It must be quite an adjustment for you," Eliza said. "It can be a bit of a shock finding out your parents weren't exactly who you thought they were."

"You're right about that," Ethan said. "And that I wasn't exactly who I thought I was, either."

As they finished dinner, the Hastings asked Tim about life on the farm. Then the conversation passed to school preparations; Ethan mentioned his shopping trip to Old Solomon's Row. They talked until the Hastings' finished their desserts, then all arose to leave.

"We're about six cars back," Eliza mentioned.

"We're in the fourth car back from here," Tim said.

As they entered the lounge car again, Tim noticed a chess set on a low table between two chairs.

"Ethan, you've got to see this," he said excitedly. "This is wizard's chess. Let's play a game."

"Good night, boys," Malcolm Hastings said lazily. "It was a pleasure making your acquaintance. Perhaps we'll see you at breakfast."

"Nice to meet you too," Tim said.

"Good night," Ethan added.

Tim was delighted to give Ethan the full benefit of his twenty-four hour acquaintance with wizard chess, a version of the game in which the pieces actually attacked and maimed each other as they thrust and parried across the board. It was nearly an hour later when they headed back to their car.

Tim was the first to notice that the door to their compartment was ajar.

"That's odd," he said. "Last night when they put down the beds, they closed the door too."

He pushed the door open the rest of the way and exclaimed, "What the---?"

Ethan hurried in and saw at once that the room had been ransacked. His trunk had been opened and the contents were scattered around on the floor. Tim's trunk had also been opened, but only the top layer of his things removed. The two owls seemed to be untouched, though Evangeline had a shocked look on her face and Bucky was fluttering about his cage nervously. Ethan went over to stroke Bucky's feathers, and the barn owl hooted appreciatively. As he comforted his owl, Ethan's eyes fell on the box for his wand, left open on the floor below the cage. The cloth bag in which he normally kept the wand was not in the box.

"Looks like someone wanted something of yours," Tim observed in a shocked tone. "They looked in my trunk but they didn't tear it apart. Everything's here."

"This is strange, Tim," Ethan said as he surveyed the damage. "They didn't take my money. All my books are still here. They didn't take my tickets or my supplies. They left the owls alone. I can only see one thing missing."

"What's that?" Tim asked with interest.

"Just the bag my wand came in," said Ethan. "They didn't get the wand though, 'cause it's in my pocket."

"That was a bit of luck, wasn't it?" Tim said, then added with a perplexed look. "But why'd you have it with you? You can't do magic yet, can you?"

"No, but my dad told me I should keep it with me before I got on the train," Ethan explained. "He didn't tell me why. And I only remembered at the last minute."

Tim was checking his possessions again. He found his wand safely tucked into its box.

"They didn't want my wand," he said. "I guess you must have the deluxe model."

"I don't know much about it yet," Ethan mused. "Then again, it was kinda weird when I got it."

"What do you mean?" asked Tim. "Did you get that lecture about the wand choosing the wizard?"

"Yeah, but that's not what I'm talking about," Ethan continued. He'd taken the wand out of his pocket and was twirling it absent-mindedly in his fingers. "The shopkeeper said that someone else had tried to buy it right before I came in. And he told me the wood in this wand came from the same tree as Voldemort's wand. It really seemed to creep him out."

"You...you said his name!" Tim said, sounding surprised. "I don't know much about him, but I thought you weren't supposed to say the name."

"Yeah, I noticed that too," Ethan said. "But _you_ don't mind do you? I try not to say it around my parents, but as far as I can tell he was--or is--just an evil man, even if he has a lot of magical power. I don't see why we should be afraid of his name."

"I suppose you're right," Tim agreed. "I just don't want everyone to be mad at me from the start. And they seem really touchy about that."

Just then the car attendant, a short, grey-haired wizard in a powder-blue uniform, stuck his head in the room.

"Can I set your beds...," he began, then stopped short as he surveyed Ethan's scattered belongings. "Merlin's beard, boys, what's happened here?"

"We found it this way when we got back from dinner, sir," Tim explained. "They seem have wanted something of Ethan's."

"Well, I'll report this to the conductor and he'll come to investigate," the attendant said. He hurried away and returned a few minutes later with a tall, gaunt wizard in dark blue robes and a pointed hat that had a brass plate engraved with the word "CONDUCTOR."

"I'm Herb Fahnestock, boys," he said gravely. "Abernathy here tells me you've had a bit of trouble and I can see he wasn't kidding. This all happened while you were at dinner?"

"Yes, sir," Ethan and Tim said in unison.

"Now let's see," the conductor said, looking at his manifest. "You are Ethan Lloyd and Timothy Van der Meulen?"

"Yes, I'm Tim and he's Ethan," the Canadian boy volunteered.

"Have either of you noticed anything missing?"

"Only the bag for my wand, sir," said Ethan.

Fahnestock raised an eyebrow and asked, "Only the bag?"

"Yeah, I had the wand with me," Ethan said, holding it up.

"And nothing else was taken?" the conductor asked.

"No, sir," Tim said.

"Well, it's very strange, I'll say that," Fahnestock said with a sigh. "Since whomever did this seemed to be particularly interested in you, Mr. Lloyd, I will ask you: is there anyone aboard this train who knows who you are?"

"No, sir, just Tim and he's been with me all along."

"What about the people we had dinner with, Ethan?" Tim interrupted. "They know both our names and what car we were in. And they seemed pretty interested in you and your family."

"Did you catch their names, Mr. Lloyd?" Fahnestock inquired.

"Yeah, it was Hastings. His name was Malcolm and hers was..."

"Eliza," Tim answered for him. "They said they were brother and sister, from St. Louis."

"And you saw these folks last where and when?"

"Well, when we stayed in the lounge car to play chess they headed back this way," Ethan told him. "They told us they were six cars back of the diner."

Mr. Fahnestock surveyed his passenger list again. After a minute or so, he shook his head.

"Are you sure the name was Hastings?" he asked, furrowing his brow. "I don't have anyone on the train by that name. What did they look like?"

"He was real tall, with dark hair," Ethan said.

"And he had a walking stick," Tim added. "When he set it down, I noticed the top was carved like a snake's head."

"She was pretty short and blonde," Ethan continued. "And she had brown eyes."

"Well, I'll be the first to admit that I don't know what this is all about, boys," the conductor concluded. "I'll circulate those descriptions to the crew and if we find anyone who matches them, we'll question them. Now, why don't we let Abernathy help you clean up and get your beds out?"

He strode off down the corridor and Abernathy stepped into the room.

"Now, Mr. Lloyd, if you'll stand aside, I'll repack your trunk for you," Abernathy offered. Tim had already put his remaining things back into his trunk. The car attendant drew a wand from his jacket pocket. "Books first, then clothes, Mr. Lloyd?"

"Sure, that's fine," Ethan answered curiously.

With one sweep of the wand, Abernathy said loudly, "_Pack books!_" and Ethan's books flew into the air and back into the trunk in neat piles. Another sweep with the words, "_Pack clothes!_" and the robes and other clothes followed. Finally, he called out, "_Pack cauldron!_" and the cauldron, packed with the rest of the supplies fell into place in the trunk.

"Nice model, plenty of expansion in it," Abernathy said.

"Thanks!" was all Ethan could say; he closed and latched the trunk's lid.

"Glad to be of service, sir. Now if you two would stand over by the door for a moment I'll get your beds down," the car attendant. With a few more waves of his wand, Abernathy converted the two chairs into a lower berth, complete with sheets, blankets and pillows. Then he released the upper berth with another charm and furnished it with bedding.

"Cool," Ethan said in admiration.

"Now, I'll leave you to relax," Abernathy said. "Shall I have the diner crew send a couple of hot chocolates up for you?"

"That would be great, if it's no trouble," Tim said.

"None at all. Now, if you need anything, call my name, Abernathy. Good evening!"

When the attendant had gone, Tim shut the door and he and Ethan sat on the lower berth. Ethan was torn between interest in the sleeper setup and worry about the burglary of the room.

"I slept in the lower berth last night since I was alone," Tim said. "But you can have your choice tonight."

"I think I'll stay down here if that's OK," Ethan said. "But you're not going to sleep yet, are you?"

"Nah, I'm not tired," Tim answered. "Besides, I'm looking forward to the hot chocolate. I hope the house elf shows up with it soon."

No sooner had Tim finished then two large mugs of hot chocolate materialized on a small shelf on the opposite side of the room.

"Whoa! That's wicked!" he exclaimed. The boys grabbed the mugs and sat back on the berth. As they sipped the hot drinks, their conversation returned to the break-in.

"I hate to say this, Ethan," Tim started, "but I'm afraid those two were setting us up at dinner. I mean, why use phony names and pretend to be so interested in your family and life on the farm."

"You're right," Ethan agreed. "But I don't understand why anyone would be that interested in me. I mean, like I told them, I really don't know much about what my parents did, and that was years ago."

"Maybe they...nah, that wouldn't make any sense."

"What, Tim? Tell me what you're thinking."

"Well, maybe they--whoever they really are--know more about your parents than you know yourself," Tim said thoughtfully.

"I wish I knew. But I'd rather not think any more about it right now," Ethan said and he changed the subject. "What about you? Did you like living on the farm?"

"Did I like it?" Tim asked between sips of cocoa. "Well, yeah, I like farm life fine. Of course, it's not easy. Even with all the modern equipment and hybrid seeds, Dad never knows from one year to the next whether he's going to make enough to make ends meet."

And so the boys talked about their homes for an hour or so, through another serving of cocoa that appeared just as Ethan mentioned that he'd like seconds. Finally, they started to yawn and changed into pajamas. Tim climbed up into the upper berth and Ethan turned off the light and slid into the lower one. He pulled the blanket up, but propped himself up on one elbow and peered out the window as the dark countryside of Ohio passed by. He heard Tim snoring lightly already above him. "Tim's right," he thought to himself. "I probably know less about my parents than lots of other people. Especially if they were famous once..." And that was his last waking thought before he drifted into a deep sleep.

Some hours later, Ethan drifted into a dream, one that seemed familiar in parts. He was moving through the woods at night; he felt something heavy in his right pocket. He was not alone; a green-eyed boy he thought he recognized was with him, as was a red-haired girl. He sensed that they were trying to escape pursuit and soon he heard harsh voices and the sound of feet crunching the underbrush behind him. Suddenly they entered a clearing with a large rock in its center. In the distance the lights of a large building shone. Ethan and his companions stopped short, for atop the rock was a huge wild cat, with a shaggy mane and tufted ears. Ethan looked at the animal and recognized it as a lynx. He'd seen one in the Madison zoo once. Somehow he felt unthreatened by it. In fact, the lynx seemed to be talking to him. "The secret lies within you, Ethan Lloyd. Unlock it and your quest will succeed." Just then their pursuers reached the clearing. One of them, tall and dark-haired stepped forward and raised his staff. The distant lights illuminated the leering head of a snake carved into the top of the staff. The lynx vanished. Ethan and his friends climbed upon the rock. Before their horrified eyes, the walking stick below them transformed into a very real and very large snake, which began slithering up to them. The snake's head had just reached the top of the rock, when the train must have hit a bumpy section of track, for Ethan woke with a start, shivering, his sheets damp with sweat. He lay awake for a few minutes, then drifted back to sleep. The next thing he remembered was the morning light shining in the window and when he awoke, he had completely forgotten the dream.

Tim had already come down from the top berth and gotten dressed.

"Where are we?" Ethan asked sleepily.

"I think we must be getting near the New Jersey line," Tim answered through his toothbrush. "We left Scranton awhile ago. I heard the conductor announcing that station."

"Then we must not be too far from Hoboken," Ethan surmised, looking at his watch. It's about 6 and we're scheduled to arrive at 8:30."

Ethan got himself dressed and then he and Tim ventured up to the dining car for breakfast. He made certain he had his wand with him. This time, Tim decided to bring his wand, too.

"Just in case," he said.

Conductor Fahnestock passed them on their way. He asked how they'd slept, but could report no success in locating anyone resembling their dinner companions.

"The diner crew remembers them, so we know your description's OK," he said with a perplexed look. "But there's no sign of them on this train now. Either they disapparated from the train--no mean feat doing that from a moving train--or they changed their appearance. Either way, I'd say you do need looking after! Keep your guard up, boys."

While this unsettled Ethan once again, their breakfast was uneventful--and bountiful--as was the remainder of the trip. The train passed over the Delaware Water Gap and on through the New Jersey suburbs. As they slowed to enter the Hoboken yards, Tim and Ethan gathered their trunks and owls and prepared to detrain.

The Hoboken Limited slid alongside Platform 8-Z at exactly 8:30 am.

"Good luck, Mr. Lloyd, and you too, Mr. Van der Meulen," Abernathy said as he handed down their trunks. "Take care of yourselves."

"Well," said Tim, "One part of the trip down. Let's see if the next part is just as exciting."

"I certainly hope not," Ethan said fervently, and he began to haul his baggage down the platform.


	6. Up the River to Kaaterskill

_Chapter Six: _

_Up the River to Kaaterskill_

Ethan and Tim hauled their trunks off the train, found two baggage carts and hurried along the platform, following signs that read "To Boats." They found themselves walking amongst several dozen other students, as the adult wizards and witches found their way out into the station. They were evidently entering a rarely used section of the terminal, for the shuffling of dozens of feet, the low rumbling of conversation and the occasional hooting of an owl echoed weirdly as they trudged along. At last, the boys came up a long ramp and found themselves in the midst of a small crowd waiting on a wide pier.

"Whoa, will you look at that?" exclaimed Tim, who was slightly ahead of Ethan. As Ethan emerged from the dim light of the terminal into the bright sunshine, he saw what had excited Tim's interest. A graceful steamboat, gleaming alabaster white with the letters "KAATERSKILL" emblazoned in purple letters on her side, rolled gently at the far end of the pier. A few wisps of steam trailed upwards from her two black funnels. Ethan could see several uniformed crew members bustling about the decks. Above the gangway was a sign that said "Kaaterskill Boat, 9:00 A.M." To his right, Ethan saw a rusting double-ended ferryboat sitting at a decrepit slip. But beyond was the most amazing skyline Ethan and Tim had ever seen.

"Form a single line, please!" said an officious little man in a neat, blue uniform. "9 o'clock boat to Platteclove Landing, wagon connection to Kaaterskill. Have your tickets ready, please!"

"Right, tickets, almost forgot," Tim muttered. "Where did I put them?"

Ethan had his ticket in his pocket. Tim eventually extracted his from somewhere inside his trunk. By that time, the line had formed and they were near the end of it.

"Sorry, we won't have much choice of seats now," said Tim.

"I wouldn't worry, there's sure to be plenty of room," a voice came from behind them. "Besides, on a day like this, who's going to want to sit down? The trip ought to be just grand!"

Ethan and Tim turned around to see a girl with sparkling eyes, freckles and bright-orange hair that hung down just over her shoulders.

"You must be first-years, too," she continued. "I'm Anne Findlay."

"I'm Tim...Tim van der Meulen, nice to meet you," and Ethan thought the other boy's face flushed a bit as he spoke.

"And I'm Ethan, Ethan Lloyd. Do you know a lot about the trip...and the school?"

"Oh, loads really. Of course my brothers and parents have told me quite a bit," Anne answered. "But then there are some things they didn't want to let on about: school secrets and such. They said I'll find out soon enough. Look, the line's finally moving."

Slowly, they moved forward. At the gangway, they were stopped by the little officer, who examined tickets, passenger and baggage carefully, then let them pass, first admonishing them, "Leave your baggage carts to the right before you board. On you go, then."

So everyone once again had to move their trunks, owls and other baggage. Ethan and Tim had had about enough of lugging their things by now, and looked for the closest possible place to put things down. They found a spot on the fore deck that was just outside the main cabin, but still sheltered. Then they wandered inside and looked about in amazement. Finely-carved wood paneling covered the walls and many matching wooden benches were interspersed with cushioned arm chairs. Ethan saw signs for the Dining Room ahead, a Cafeteria down one deck and the Upper Deck up a magnificent staircase.

"Look at that, Ethan!" Tim grabbed his arm and pointed at the wall to the left. "The people in those pictures are moving."

A large mural was painted along the interior wall of the cabin. Along the bottom, in flowing script, was the title "Progress of Magic in North America." The subject seemed to be chronological, with Native Americans gathered around a shaman at the left, then a group of European settlers who seemed to be leaving a Puritan settlement to head into the wilderness. Next appeared a scene involving a group of wizards in powdered wigs signing a long parchment. Under this scene were the words, "Establishment of the Continental Council of American Wizards, 1777." The next tableau to catch Ethan's eye was one in which a witch and a wizard were handing a scroll to several short, spindly-legged creatures with large ears and eyes that looked ready to pop out of their heads, dressed in rags, old towels and pillowcases. "Abolition of House Elf Slavery, 1850" read the accompanying label.

While Ethan was intrigued by the discovery that his ancestors had a history as long and diverse as the muggle history he'd learned in Madison, he was fascinated by the phenomena that Tim had noticed. The characters in each tableau were in fact moving, and as they drew nearer, the boys could hear them talking as well. They were standing just in front of a scene depicting 20th century advances in healing when a young wizard in the tableau turned from a patient who had enormous green wings and said, "Welcome aboard! I do hope you'll have a wonderful year!"

"Thanks," said Tim, slightly startled,"Good luck with your work."

"It's going well," the healer replied cheerily, "We should be able to make these dragon wings disappear in just a few days now." His patient snorted and tried to turn away.

A bit further on, a game was being played in a large stadium by wizards and witches on broomsticks. "That's Quidditch!" remarked Tim and he pointed to the label below: "Moose Jaw Meteors, 26-time Continental Quidditch League Champions."

"I just read about that team, they play about 50 miles from my home," he said with a touch of pride. "But none of my family or friends has ever heard of them. Apparently they have something to do with the number of UFO sightings back home, though."

"You're from Meteors country? They are sooo cool!"

It was Anne, the red-haired girl they'd met on the dock. "Let's go out on deck, we'll be getting underway any minute," she told them. Ethan wasn't entirely sure he wanted to spend the trip with Anne, she seemed to be a bit of a know-it-all. But Tim seemed to be willing, so Ethan shrugged and went along.

"Well, I've learned a bit about them, but really I know a lot more about football; the Saskatchewan Roughriders are my favorite team."

"Oh," Anne sounded a bit crestfallen. "What's football?"

"Ummm," Tim thought how he could explain, then decided to keep it simple. "It's just a very popular muggle sport. I wish I had a moving picture to show you."

"You mean you've never seen paintings with moving characters?" she sounded incredulous as they left the salon and moved out onto the open deck. "So, your parents must be muggles,eh? I've heard their pictures don't move at all. I could hardly believe it."

"Well, yeah, I always thought that was normal. These could take some getting used to," said Tim, as he leaned on the rail along the starboard side, facing the New York skyline. "I don't think the rest of my family would believe much of what I've seen in the last 3 days."

"First wizard in the family, eh? You'll get used to it quickly," said Anne with a tone of certainty. "Why some of the greatest wizards and witches were from muggle families. Even Cyrus Flyte, the headmaster, is only second-generation. There were a few people back home who grumbled about that, said only "pureblood" wizards should teach at Kaaterskill, but I don't really agree, do you? I mean, I think we ought to learn from whoever knows best, don't you, no matter how many centuries magic's been in their families. I know I can't wait to get going, because I'm determined to be a great witch. I mean, why bother with all of this knowledge if you're not going to do something worthwhile with it?"

Ethan nodded vaguely and looked out over the lower Hudson. The steamboat gave three smart blasts of its horn and began to pull away from the pier. Looking back, Ethan saw the low archways of the ferry terminal with huge letters on top spelling the name "LACKAWANNA." Slowly but smoothly the KAATERSKILL moved out into the center of the channel and turned upriver.

"That's some city over there," he said, pointing at Manhattan's skyscrapers. "Have you ever been there?"

"Can't say as I have," Anne admitted. "But I grew up in Maine, on the coast. Heard a lot about the big cities, but I've only been to Boston once. I know there are a lot of magic folk in New York; the Department of Magic has their Northeastern Regional office there. Maybe one day we can work there. Where are you from? Your parents muggles too, I suppose."

"Madison, Wisconsin, is my home," said Ethan, with a touch of pride. "Not so big as New York, but a pretty wonderful place, I think. Best frozen custard anywhere. And no, my parents aren't muggles. But they have been living in a muggle neighborhood for years."

"Are they doing Muggle Studies fieldwork?" Anne asked. "That must be fascinating."

"Well, not exactly fieldwork," Ethan stammered. "We just sort of live with muggles. I grew up with them; I didn't know anything about being a wizard until a couple of months ago."

"That's kind of odd, really," Anne said with a slight frown. "I mean, the International Council of Wizards decided way back in 1692 to segregate from muggles. You're the first wizard I've ever met who's lived with muggles. Of course, everyone's heard of Harry Potter, but he only lived with muggle relatives because he was an orphan."

Ethan didn't respond, instead looking out at the city passing by before him. He wasn't sure he really liked this girl. She seemed to know a lot, but she seemed to think she knew even more. There was a determination and assertiveness about her that he couldn't help but admire. But he felt he might already have given away too much information about his parents; he didn't want to explain that they'd been hiding from dark wizards since before he was born...or why.

A warm September breeze flowed over the waters as KAATERSKILL steamed northwards. Ethan noticed that the ship was steering a nearly straight course up the center of the Hudson. He also thought it was somewhat strange that the steamboat didn't change its course as it approached and passed other ships. In fact, several times he was sure they were going to plow right into a line of barges or a container ship. But each time, the other ship just seemed to jump out of their way at the last minute.

"They can't even see us, can they?" Tim asked no one in particular, just after KAATERSKILL pushed past a cabin cruiser. "I mean, if they could they'd be honking at us and getting ready for a collision."

"No, the ship's got an invisibility charm," said Anne knowingly. "If they could see us, the Department of Magic would have to spend weeks modifying memories after every trip. Not to mention some muggle might figure out where Kaaterskill Academy is. Though my parents told me it's unplottable, so they'd probably have to hitch a ride on the school wagons to find it. We have a little boat to get from our island to the mainland, and they can't see that, either."

"This is getting weirder and weirder," Tim said, shaking his head.

"Well, I s'pose that depends on your point of view," Anne replied. "To me, it's just the way the world works."

"Just the way the world works," Ethan repeated, as if hearing it twice would allow it to sink in better.

After a time the three headed inside to find the cafeteria. Although they'd had a large breakfast on the train, Ethan and Tim were famished again. The ship's fare, they discovered, equaled the Limited's in both quantity and variety. They each parted with a few sickles and enjoyed an excellent lunch. Then they headed back onto the deck, this time from the port side of the ship.

As they stood looking out over the river, another boy, a bit taller than Ethan with dark, curly but neatly trimmed hair stopped and stood next to them.

"Hello, there!" said the boy. "First-years, too?"

"Yes," Ethan replied. Tim and Anne nodded.

"I'm Simon Brocklebank," the curly-haired boy continued. "I can't wait for this boat ride to be over, can you? I've spent the whole summer getting ready. I do wish they'd let us bring racing brooms, I know I could have gotten Father to buy me one. Had to settle for the latest in dress robes and a fancy owl instead. So who are you all, then?"

"I'm Anne Findlay," the red-haired girl said. "I'm rather enjoying the trip so far."

"Tim Van der Meulen."

"Ethan Lloyd."

"Lloyd, really? Not one of _the_ Lloyds?" Simon asked.

"I don't know," Ethan replied. "Which Lloyds do you have in mind?"

"Well, Father says the Lloyds were one of the best wizarding families in America," Simon answered. "I think some of them were cousins of ours a few generations back. As pureblood as they come."

"Did you say they _were_ a good family?" Anne asked with a bit of an edge in her voice. "What happened? Aren't they any more?"

"Well, Father said one of them married a muggle somewhere along the line," Simon explained. "So they really can't be counted as pureblood anymore. And then of course there was one who got a whole squad of Aurors killed back in the war with You-Know-Who and then ran off to hide with muggles afterwards."

"You don't really believe that having muggle blood makes you less of a wizard, do you?" Anne countered. "I mean, I come from a family that's been "pure" for at least 200 years, but that doesn't mean I'm any better than someone who's the first wizard in their family."

"Like me, you mean?" Tim interjected. "Until three months ago, I had no idea there were witches and wizards in the world, let alone that I was one of them."

Simon finally seemed to realize that he'd misjudged his audience, but he stubbornly continued.

"Well, no offense," he said condescendingly. "But I don't think any muggle-born can possibly do as well at Kaaterskill as a pureblood wizard."

"We'll see about that," Tim said quietly and he looked away up river.

Ethan had felt a surge of anger as Simon Brocklebank had carelessly insulted his family and his own parents. He was glad that Anne and Tim had taken up the conversation, for he worried that he'd do some accidental magic in his wrath. But he'd mastered his initial feelings; now he channeled them into words, sharp as knives.

"Now that you've explained everything so well, Simon," he began. "Yes, I am one of _those_ Lloyds. And you should get a clue before you start talking about what my parents did in the war. You don't know a thing about my family! You have no idea what it's like to fight against Voldemort like they did!"

Ethan's voice had gradually grown louder as he spoke. Both Anne and Simon grimaced at the sound of the Dark Lord's name, and several other students in the area turned towards them with surprised looks.

Two boys, who looked about a foot taller than Brocklebank, both heavyset, ambled over.

"What's going on, Simon?" one of the boys asked.

"Nothing, Woody. Hi, Lew," Simon answered, then he shrugged mockingly at Ethan. "Sorry if I hurt your feelings, Lloyd. You'll need thicker skin if you're going to make it through Kaaterskill, friend. Come on guys, let's leave the muggle lovers alone before they start crying."

And with that, Simon swept away, Woody and Lew following him like bodyguards.

Ethan turned back to Tim and Anne, still trembling.

Tim took a deep breath, then said, "He's right about one thing, I guess. You and I will both need thick skins to get through this."

"Oh, don't pay too much attention to him," Anne told them. "There've always been wizards who feel only purebloods deserve to be educated in magic. His type is probably just afraid of competition. Did your parents really fight You-Know-Who?"

"Well, not him personally," Ethan explained. "But against his followers...Death Eaters, is that what they're called? In Newfoundland, before I was born."

"You mean Table Mountain?" Anne said and her jaw dropped. "Your parents really are _those_ Lloyds, then!"

"Yeah, but I've got to ask you something," Ethan said. "It seems that everywhere I go in this world, people know who my parents are and they have some notion of what they did, even if they're wrong half the time. To me, they're just my parents. How famous are they?"

"Well, I can't tell you as well as my parents could," Anne said. "But Table Mountain was the most famous fight against You-Know-Who's people on this side of the ocean, I think. And there are lots of stories about what happened to your parents, since they were the only survivors and they disappeared soon afterwards."

"What kind of stories?"

"Well, some said that Death Eaters kidnapped or killed them in revenge; some thought they were really spies for You-Know-Who and that's why they vanished. And some said they'd managed to get away with something valuable that belonged to You-Know-Who and had to drop out of sight. But you know the truth, right?"

"I'm not sure," Ethan answered. "I mean I think I know which stories _aren't _true, but I don't know the whole truth. It was before I was born, after all."

"Well, if you do know, you probably shouldn't be discussing it with the likes of us," Tim said. "I don't pretend to understand all I've heard, but they must have been in great danger. I wonder whether what happened on the train had anything to do with that."

They briefly explained about the mysterious break-in on the Hoboken Limited.

"Well, I'd say this is bound to be a real interesting year," Anne said. "You may need more than a thick skin, Ethan. But I think you should get used to the attention. You may not have a funny scar on your forehead, but you're likely to be a bit of a celebrity at school."

"Great, just what I need," Ethan groaned. "I don't even know what I'm doing to begin with."

"Don't fuss yourself about it, Ethan," Tim said, clapping him on the shoulder. "You've obviously got it in your blood. And you're bound to look good compared to me!"

"Don't count on it," Ethan said, feeling more uncertain about his prospects than he had all summer.

They were interrupted by an announcement that rang across the ship, directing all students to don their robes in preparation for their arrival.

"Oh boy, here we go!" Tim muttered nervously.

"Don't worry, you'll both be fine!" Anne said as she hurried off to find her trunk. "See you at school!"

Ethan and Tim retrieved their robes and hats from the trunks and found the men's dressing room. When they emerged, both somewhat self-conscious in their black robes and pointed hats, they could see a long dock extending from the west shore of the river, still quite distant. Well beyond to the west, a wall of mountains rose up sharply from the river valley.

"I guess that's where we're headed," Tim said as a line of barges jumped out of their way to port.

As _KAATERSKILL_ approached the landing, a voice boomed across the ship: "In a few moments we will arrive at Platteclove Landing. Carriages for returning students will be located to the left; wagons for the first-year students will be to the right. All trunks and other baggage will be transported separately via freight wagons. First-year students will please gather at the forward end of the main deck immediately."

Ethan and Tim joined the surging crowd headed down to the main deck. They quickly found their way to the bow where a few dozen first-year students were gathering. Ethan wondered whether he looked as pale and nervous as most of those he saw around him. Even Anne had gone silent for what seemed like the first time since they'd met at Hoboken.

Further down the deck, the upper-class students lined up to disembark appeared to Ethan much older, confident and mature than the frightened-looking new students. Perhaps, he thought to himself, we're all wondering what we've gotten ourselves into, now that we're here. Not for the last time, he wondered how his friends in Madison were doing; today was their first day of middle school. Looking about him again, he saw that the general mood of panic seemed to be affecting all of his new classmates, regardless of their parentage or knowledge of the magical world.

As the older students made their way off the ship and over to the carriages, a young-looking wizard in a burgundy robe and cloak, matching boots and a flat-topped hat made his way aboard and sauntered towards the first-years. Curly brown hair peeked out from beneath his hat and his brown eyes sparkled over an aquiline nose. Smiling broadly, he beamed at the knot of new students and spoke.

"Welcome to Kaaterskill! I am Herodotus Bancroft, and it is my privilege as Director of Admissions to escort you up the mountain to the school on this fine afternoon. In that capacity, though I admit we say this to every class, I must tell you that the faculty and board are most pleased with the incoming class and we expect great things from you!"

"As I will also be your Professor of the History of Magic, you will excuse me if I make some historical remarks as well. Each of you is part of the 219th class to begin their education at Kaaterskill. The first class came here while this land was caught up in the muggle Revolution that created the United States. Through many tumults--the emancipation of American house elfs, the wars between European and Native American muggles, two muggle world wars, and the battles against the dark wizards Chiromatsu, Grindelwald and--hem--You-Know-Who, Kaaterskill has always sought to produce wizards and witches of ability and character. What you do with your futures will reflect how well we have done our job, but it will also derive from your own choices. You will choose what to do with the knowledge we impart in this school. I trust that you will make us proud to count you as graduates, not only because of the knowledge you've gained, but because of the choices you make as young witches and wizards."

Most of the first-years were watching Bancroft with great interest, though a few began looking idly about or yawning as he made these last comments.

"Now then, we will began our journey up to school and you will begin your journey of magical education," he continued. He clapped his hands once, and those whose minds had wandered turned back to Bancroft. "Please pay attention while I call the roll. When I call your name, please line up at the gangway. Then you will board the wagons in groups of eight. I ask that you disembark at Kaaterskill in the same order and enter the school building single file for the Welcoming Ceremony."

Bancroft cleared his throat, then called out: "Appelbaum, Jennifer." A tall girl with curly black hair and pale skin timidly stepped forward and started the line.

"Aquino, Martin." A chunky boy with a dark complexion and deep black eyes strode forward and stood behind Jennifer. There followed "Baldacci, Nancy," "Bleheris, Eileen," and "Brocklebank, Simon" and so the line lengthened and the group near the bow shrank. After "Enemoto, Karen," Bancroft called "Findlay, Anne," and the redheaded girl sprang to her place in line. "Holsapple, Jeremy," a gangling boy with long arms and curly brown hair, nearly tripped over his shoelaces, but otherwise all made it to the line without incident. When he heard "Leskovits, Amanda," Ethan knew his turn was near and indeed the professor intoned "Lloyd, Ethan" next. As he stepped forward, Ethan thought that Bancroft gave him a searching look, but he told himself he was imagining things. But he was certain that several of the other students eyed him curiously as he joined the end of the line. As "Malinowski, Edwin," a small boy with angular features not unlike Ethan's, but with crewcut black hair, moved up behind him, Ethan relaxed a bit. He paid little attention to the roll call until he heard Bancroft call "Van der Meulen, Timothy" and saw his new friend step forward. Their eyes met and Ethan gave Tim a wink. Only two more students, "Van Nort, Lewis" and "Williams, Gwen" were called and the line was complete.

At a sign from Professor Bancroft, Jennifer Appelbaum led the first-years off the steamboat and down to the waiting wagons. These were brightly painted with large iron-tired wooden wheels and elaborate steps at each end. Two facing benches ran the length of each wagon. Ethan watched as the first eight students clambered up into the lead wagon. The second wagon was filled and then gangly Jeremy Holsapple began the third wagon. Three students followed him and then Ethan stepped up and sat facing them. As he sat down, he wondered when the horses would be brought up. Before he'd finished that thought, he was startled to see the first wagon, with Bancroft seated in front, rumble off on its own. Soon the last two wagons filled up and all were underway.

"I've heard of headless horsemen, but not horseless wagons," said a serious-looking girl with straight shoulder-length hair and glasses across from Ethan, to everyone and no one in particular. "Oh, and I'm Cindy Hotaling."

Ethan was relieved to find he was not the only one to find the wagons' locomotion--or lack thereof-- curious. Cindy's remarks had also broken the students' awkward silence and introductions were made all around. Ethan found his fellow travelers a mixed lot: 3 girls and 5 boys, 6 with two magical parents, 2 muggle-born. One of the latter, Cindy Hotaling was from a Hudson River community just an hour away from school. Malik Ibrahim, the other muggle-born student, was a 2nd generation Egyptian-American from California. The six students born to magical parents were from all over, as well. Jeremy Holsapple lived near Philadelphia, Amanda Leskovits was from Indiana, Ed Malinowski from western Massachusetts, Trevor Mercure from eastern Tennessee, Maddie Morrigan (whose real first name was Madison) from Washington, DC, and Ethan from Wisconsin.

"Are you really one of _those_ Lloyds?" Jeremy asked, sounding impressed. "Someone on the boat said your parents were the ones who defeated an army of Death Eaters back in the war against You-Know-Who."

"Yeah, they did that," Ethan said self-consciously. "I mean I don't know if it was an _army_ of Death Eaters, but they did fight them."

Cindy and Malik seemed unaffected by this, but the others seemed slightly awed by Ethan, who in turn felt awkward. The group fell silent for a time. As the wagons rolled along, Ethan saw hillsides forming a narrow, twisting valley enveloped in green foliage. Every now and again, he glimpsed the wagon track further up the clove, as it appeared briefly between the trees. Towering pines mixed with slender birches and sturdy maples. Although it was still late summer, some leaves were beginning to turn from green to bright oranges, reds and yellows. A small stream picked its way amongst the rocks at the center of the vale, heading down towards the great river. Still climbing, the wagons came to a sunny clearing and Ethan could see the passengers in the lead wagon pointing upwards. He followed their extended arms and saw a white structure glistening in the sun at the edge of a cliff high above them, his first view of Kaaterskill Academy of Magic. Ethan could make out a long, colonnaded portico and two towers but the school was still too far away to see clearly. Then the road took a turn back into the mixed pine and hardwood forest and Kaaterskill was again out of sight.

The road wound gradually up the mountainside now and each time it bent from a southward course back to the north, the school hove into sight. Now Ethan could see that the building was practically on the edge of a high, overhanging ledge. He turned the other way and gasped as he saw how far up the clove they had come. Laid out below them was a vast extent of country, farmland and towns, bisected by the now-distant Hudson, all checkered with sunlight and shadows.

The wagons rolled past the remains of an old foundation, little more than piles of broken stone. Edwin, the small boy with the crew cut, nudged Ethan and pointed.

"They say that was old Rip Van Winkle's house, you know," he said gravely. "My cousin--he finished four years ago--told me all about it. The muggles all think that was just a story! But really, he drank too much of a really strong sleeping draught."

"Really," Ethan said idly. "I suppose we'll see the Headless Horseman around the bend?"

Edwin blanched and replied, "I hope not! That's supposed to be really bad luck."

They saw no horsemen, headless or otherwise, on the journey upward. Time passed slowly, and the students in Ethan's wagon resumed their chatting. Finally, the wagons rolled up onto level ground. The trees gave way to a meadow of grasses and wildflowers. Straight ahead, the late afternoon sun reflected off a sheet of glassy water. In the middle of the lake rose one of the strangest structures Ethan had seen.

"Is that a lighthouse?" he asked.

"Or a castle?" Edwin suggested.

In truth the building in the lake looked like a miniature castle, with a foundation of heavy stone and a single straight tower that rose high over the lake, topped with a red tile roof.

Before anyone else could comment on the tower, the wagons made a final turn to the left and Kaaterskill Academy stood before them. The wagons pulled up onto a circular drive on the side of the building opposite the cliff. A large wooden double door was at the center of the building; over the door was a motto: "_Numquam Fidete Equite Capite Carens._"

The new students clambered down from the wagons and lined up single file before the door in alphabetical order. With the other new students, Ethan looked up with a mixture of curiousity and awe at the rambling white building with two large asymmetrical wings to right and left, a large three-story center section, four mansard-roofed towers rising from apparently random locations and a low, windowed dome at about the center of the building.

"Well, this is it," he thought to himself. "Time to find out what I've gotten myself into."


	7. The Dowsing Rod

_Chapter Seven_

_The Dowsing Rod_

The empty wagons rattled off around the circle into the setting sun. Professor Bancroft stood before them once again and said, "Here we are at last! In a few moments, you will enter the Assembly Hall to join your schoolmates. The first ceremony of your careers here is the traditional House Assignment. When you enter, please follow me down the Main Hall and into the Assembly Hall, where the returning students and the faculty await you. We will walk straight to the front of the hall, where each you will be assigned to one of the four houses: Bradbury, Harrison, Tenskwatawa, or Tituba. During your school years, your house will be your family, there to support your efforts, cheer your victories, and buoy you up after your failures. The houses engage in friendly competition each year for the Kaaterskill Trophy; each of you may win points for your house through your successes and you will lose points for any bad behavior."

Bancroft stopped, straightened his tie and his hat, and announced, "It is time to process. Follow me, please. "

He strode up to the door, opened it and led the first-years into the school. When Ethan marched in with the others, he saw that they had entered a broad hallway that led clear through the building to another door on the eastern side of the school. At the near, or west, end, their was a large reception desk to the left side; corridors ran off to right and left, but Bancroft led the group all the way down the hall, which was brightly lit by torches and adorned by portraits. Like those aboard the steamboat, the paintings featured subjects who moved; some smiled and waved at the newcomers as they passed, others yawned or fussed over their robes. Ethan was sure he saw one distinguished-looking wizard vanish from his own portrait, then appear in the next, whispering into the ear of a white-haired witch.

Bancroft turned left at the end of the hall; had he continued, he would have led the first-years right out onto the colonnaded portico. As it was, when Ethan reached the turn, he found that they had marched into a large open hall with a high ceiling. Once in this room, his curiousity briefly overcame the growing anxiety in the pit of his stomach. For the Assembly Hall was the most magnificent and unusual room Ethan had ever seen. Four long tables ran nearly the full length of the room, with a wide central aisle, now filled by the first-years' procession. At the long tables sat the returning students in their robes and hats. The tables were set with glistening silver plates and goblets. Above these tables hovered countless candles, which supplemented the torch light along the walls. At the end of the room, raised on a stage, was a fifth table that faced the doorway. Behind this table sat the faculty, over a dozen witches and wizards, all very impressive in their dress robes. At the center of the table was an older man, tall and gaunt, wearing a deep blue robe, hood thrown back to reveal a stern face, with deep-set, dark eyes, a sharp, beak-like nose and wild, white hair. As he gazed over the top of his glasses, his bleak face was softened by a bemused smile.

Ethan realized that the blue-robed wizard must be Cyrus Flyte, the headmaster. Behind the faculty table on the wall hung a large tapestry, decorated with five interlocked circles. In the center was a magnificent eagle in flight above mountains. In the circles that surrounded the eagle were images of four other creatures: an otter, a lizard, a wolf, and a mountain lion.

Many of the new students were looking and pointing upwards. When Ethan looked up, he was awestruck, for the high ceiling appeared not to be a ceiling at all. What he saw above him seemed to be the late summer evening sky, the sunset still glowing in the west.

"It's enchanted," Edwin whispered from behind. "My cousin told me it always looks just like the sky outside."

"Pretty cool," Ethan replied, but before he could say more, the witch next to Flyte rapped on her glass with a spoon to call the school to attention. Instantly, all eyes turned to the tall, gaunt wizard in the blue robe.

"Welcome! Welcome all to another year at Kaaterskill," he intoned. "And most especially, welcome to our new students. Before we can begin the new year in earnest, the first-year students must receive their house assignments. Professor Bancroft?"

"Thank you, headmaster," Bancroft replied. He stepped up to the faculty table, where Flyte handed him a gnarled tree branch, about four feet long, forked at one end. As he came back down to the aisle, Ethan could see four pictures set up between the first-years and the faculty table. The pictures matched those on the tapestry: a mountain lion with the name "Bradbury" beneath it, a wolf over "Harrison," a lizard over the name "Tenskwatawa," and an otter labeled "Tituba." Bancroft held the branch over his head by the forked ends. And to Ethan's amazement, a knot near the top opened like a mouth, and the branch began to sing:

_You may think that I look crooked,  
but I'm here to set you straight.  
The dowsing rod will tell you all  
which House shall hold your fate._

_For back two centuries and more,  
in days of storied yore,  
Bold Elwyn left old Angle-land  
and came unto this shore._

_Well-versed in rhabdomancy, he  
did stoutly climb the peaks.  
He walked the valleys green and fair,  
Earth's wisdom for to seek._

_Conversing much among the wise,  
of Dutch and Haudenosaunee,  
the secret spots in these high peaks  
at length bold Elwyn came to see._

_And here, when muggle wars did rage,  
and these lands threw off English rule,  
then Bradbury did seek a place  
to plant the new land's magic school._

_From a willow close beside a stream,  
a gnarled, forked branch he chose,  
and to the highest peaks did go,  
the right spot for the school to dowse._

_And on the cliff atop the clove,  
the dowsing rod did vibrate so,  
that Elwyn knew this was the spot  
where Kaaterskill the school should go._

'_Tis many generations since  
the Kaaterskill Acad'my rose  
high on the cliff atop the clove,  
not far from where old Rip did doze._

_And each of you must now take hold  
of Elwyn's wise old dowser,  
I'll look inside your head and heart,  
and tell you where you'll prosper._

_You might belong in Bradbury  
if you are brave and daring.  
The Founder's house is where  
the bold at heart are ever faring._

_You might belong in Harrison,  
with the loyal and the clever.  
They keep their wits about them,  
and hold friendship firm forever._

_You might belong in Prophet's house,  
by name it's Tenskwatawa,  
if you're far-sighted and ambitious  
this house will surely claim you._

_Or maybe yet in Tituba,  
where dwell the caring and the wise.  
Those sorcerers have searching minds,  
but ne'er forsake their human ties._

_So hold me tight with all your might,  
the dowsing rod's your friend in need.  
I'll guide you to your house and home,  
and bid you do your best indeed._

As Bancroft lowered the rod, the hall burst into applause.

"So that's it," Edwin said, sounding relieved. "We grab the branch and it pulls you towards the house banner. My cousin made it sound like we had to perform some kind of spell. This won't be so bad."

Ethan nodded, but the butterflies in his stomach weren't going away. He was glad he wasn't being required to do magic, for he was sure that he'd either be unable to do anything or worse, that he'd accidentally make the ceiling fall on someone. But he wasn't very keen to stand up in front of the whole school while the dowsing rod decided his fate. And already he was having trouble remembering what the rod had said about the different houses. One was for the brave and daring, but was it Bradbury or Harrison? And which was caring and wise? He thought he might be far-sighted and loyal but he hadn't often been called overly clever or ambitious. He rather wished the song had mentioned a house for nervous daydreamers.

Bancroft now addressed the new students. "When I call your name, you will step forward and grasp the dowsing rod. When your house is chosen, you will go and join your housemates at their table."

He unrolled a scroll in his left hand. "Appelbaum, Jennifer," he said loudly.

Looking if possible paler than before, Jennifer stepped forward. Bancroft handed the dowsing rod to her and she took hold with both hands. For a moment, nothing seemed to happen. Then, the rod jumped slightly in her hands and Jennifer was drawn forward towards the house banners. Almost immediately the rod pulled her to the banner with the mountain lion and it shouted out "BRADBURY!"

There was much shouting and clapping from the table to Ethan's far right, and Jennifer rushed over to the Bradbury table, handing the rod off to Martin Aquino, whose name was called next. It only took a moment for the rod to bring Martin to the banner with the otter and call out "TITUBA!" Off Martin went to the table at the far left of the hall to the welcoming cheers of the Titubas.

"Baldacci, Nancy" went to Tituba as well, as did "Bleheris, Eileen."

Simon Brocklebank smirked as he took hold of the rod, which yanked him forward to the lizard and shouted "TENSKWATAWA" immediately. Brocklebank gave the Prophet's table their turn to cheer.

"Devlin, Linsey" gave Tituba yet another newcomer, then "Deming, Sara" became the first new Harrison.

And so Bancroft worked his way down the scroll. Sometimes the rod didn't decide right away, and sometimes it pulled the student back and forth in front of the banners before settling on a house.

"Findlay, Anne."

Anne rushed forward, took the dowsing rod and was pulled directly to the mountain lion. The rod shouted "BRADBURY!" nearly as quickly as it had announced Brocklebank's house. Her face nearly as red as her hair, Anne headed over to the Bradbury table where she was greeted with enthusiasm.

"Holsapple, Jeremy" stepped forward carefully so as not to trip again. But the rod took its time assigning him; nearly a minute passed before it called out "HARRISON!"

As the line in front of him grew shorter, Ethan had a sudden thought, one he knew was foolish but could not suppress. He imagined that the rod would pull him back and forth and back again, and finally pull him straight back out of the hall while announcing, "SORRY, THIS ONE'S A MISTAKE!"

Amanda Leskovits was assigned to Tenskwatawa. Bancroft called out, "Lloyd, Ethan" and Amanda handed Ethan the dowsing rod. Again it seemed to Ethan that the faculty, particularly Flyte, was looking especially intently at him and that the room had gone quiet as he stepped forward.

Holding the rod, Ethan felt a slight vibration running from the forks into his arms, a bit like the feeling he'd had when he'd found the right wand. He felt as if he was gliding very slowly towards the house banners rather than walking. And he heard the dowsing rod's voice in his ears, quiet and thoughtful.

"Hmmmm, a Lloyd is it? I haven't seen one of _you_ for years...well, let's see what we can do with you. I see, I see...a fine mind, I think, and the vision to go with it. And a stubborn streak as well. And a fair bit of courage, though you might not admit it yourself. But where to put you? A stubborn visionary...Tenskwatawa would serve you well...then again..."

Ethan remembered his encounter with Brocklebank on the boat and thought to himself, "Not Tenskwatawa, _please_ not that house."

"Not the Prophet's house?" the rod answered his thought. "Very well, if you're sure. Your courage...and your arrogance... have landed you in BRADBURY!"

Ethan gave a sigh of relief and passed the rod off to Edwin as he hurried to the Bradbury table.

From across the table, an older boy reached over to shake Ethan's hand.

"Welcome to Bradbury, Lloyd! I'm Kenny Sturtevant, one of your proctors. Good to have you aboard!"

"Thanks! It's good to be here," Ethan said sincerely. It felt good to be past the tension of the sorting ceremony and to be somewhere he was wanted.

Looking back to the front of the room, he saw with some disappointment that Edwin Malinowski had gone to Harrison.

Turning again to the Bradbury table, Ethan saw that four of the first-years had preceded him there. They soon introduced themselves: in addition to Anne Findlay, they were Jennifer Appelbaum, who'd had time to recover from having to lead off the ceremony; Erin Frazier, a jovial girl with shoulder-length brown hair and a twinkle in her green eyes; and Marcus Gibson, an African American boy with close-cropped hair and a stocky build.

They were soon joined by two more girls: Maddie Morrigan, who'd been in Ethan's wagon, and Melissa Murthin, a blonde girl from West Virginia who was already taller than most of the first-year boys.

"Double 'M's must be lucky for Bradbury," Kenny Sturtevant exclaimed as the two girls sat down next to him opposite Ethan and Anne.

A few minutes later, the only pair of twins among the new students was sorted. Katrina and Peter Powles were twins, but the dowsing rod sent Katrina to Tenskwatawa and her brother to Bradbury.

The line awaiting their turn with the dowsing rod was getting short indeed now.

"We should get a couple more," Kenny said hopefully, "With luck at least one more boy."

There was a brief wave of snickering, mostly from the muggle-borns, as "Simpson, Lisa" was sent to Harrison House. Anne looked puzzled and a bit indignant for Lisa.

"It's just because of a TV show," Ethan tried to explain.

"Oh, you mean television?" Anne asked eagerly. "Someday maybe I'll see that. Still, that's no reason to laugh at her."

Soon, Kenny got at least part of his wish, as a lanky boy named Kyle Stuart was sent to Bradbury. After shaking Kyle's hand, Ethan turned back to the line. He'd just noticed that Tim Van der Meulen was about to be sorted. And then the dowsing rod was in his hands. It started to pull him towards Harrison, but then veered to the left and announced "BRADBURY!"

Ethan cheered louder than anyone as the boy from the prairies approached the Bradbury table. Ethan stood up and high-fived Tim as he joined the table. He'd been too nervous to think about it earlier, but Ethan was quite glad that he and Tim would be in the same house.

And then, as Lewis Van Nort went to Tenskwatawa and Gwen Williams to Harrison, the assignment ceremony was over. Bancroft took the dowsing rod up to the faculty table with him and sat down to Flyte's right.

"Congratulations to all of the houses and their new members!" Flyte said. "I have a few words to say, but nothing that you ought to hear on an empty stomach. It's time to build up your strength for the new term. Let the feast begin!"

As Flyte raised his arms, the tables were suddenly laden with a tremendous quantity and variety of food and drink. Platters of roast turkey, pork and beef, meat pies, bowls of all kinds of vegetables, loaves of freshly baked breads; all had apparently materialized out of thin air.

The first-years gasped in surprise and delight at this; the older students added a hearty cheer and all set to eagerly. Ethan loaded his plate with a bit of everything within his reach.

The new Bradburys got to know each other in snatches of conversation between mouthfuls.

"Well, we _are_ twins," sandy-haired Peter Powles was saying. "But, for the longest time, Mom and Dad thought only Katrina had any magic in her. But last year some garden gnomes had me surrounded in our yard. Up to their usual tricks. Next thing I knew, I'd blasted them over the fence, don't ask me how. I'm not sure Katrina will ever forgive me, though. I'm certain she really hoped I'd turn out to be a squib."

Tim was comparing muggle and wizard farming methods with Marcus Gibson.

"Know the right spells and you don't need all of those weed killers and fertilizers," Marcus said. "And it must be hard for you to control the nogtails if you can't even see them. But those big machines--what do you call them?"

"Combines," Tim told him.

"Well, they sound like they might be worth a look."

"But Marcus, what are nogtails?" Tim asked.

At that moment, there was a swishing noise, the torches in the hall fluttered, and Ethan was suddenly aware of a number of apparitions flitting about the room.

One of these, the shade of an elderly woman in antique clothing, alighted near the end of the Bradbury table.

"Hello, Goody Cloyse!" Kenny greeted the ghost. "Had a good summer, I hope!"

"As good as can be expected, Master Sturtevant," she said. "The annual meeting of the Society of Colonial Witches was a great success, if I do say so myself. And the mixer with the Ancient and Honorable Colonial Wizards was quite pleasant for a change."

Turning to survey the new students, Goody Cloyse continued, "Welcome to Bradbury, my dears. I trust you're up to the challenge of winning the Kaaterskill Trophy this year. I'm counting on you; old Onteora won't let me forget that Tenskwatawa's held it for five years running."

There was a moment's awkward silence. Some of the first-years were still too astonished by the appearance of the ghosts to speak. Ethan noticed that Tim and Jennifer were nearly as pale as Goody Cloyse. Then an assertive voice rang out.

"You can count on us, ma'am," Anne Findlay spoke up. "We'll get you the trophy this year! That's a promise!"

"That's the spirit!" the ghost replied. "Well, you must excuse me. Although I'd love to join you, I must catch up with Nattee Swarts."

And with that she floated over to the Harrison table and began conversing with the ghost of a young woman in the garb of a colonial servant.

"Didn't any of your brothers tell you that a promise to the house ghost is close to sacred, Anne?" Kenny Sturtevant asked seriously. "She'll hold all of us to that now. And the ghosts can be really unpleasant if promises aren't kept."

Both the new students and the older ones at the Bradbury table looked at each other nervously.

"Why'd she have to stick her neck out like that?" Tim whispered to Ethan. "Or I should say _our_ necks."

Anne looked around and blushed momentarily. Then she said defiantly, "Well, don't you think we can do it? And if you think we can, don't you think we should?"

"You won't find anyone at the table who disagrees with your sentiment, Anne," Kenny continued. "It's just that...well, we usually let the seniors and proctors speak on behalf of the house. But what's done is done--don't let it worry you _too_ much."

Appetites overcame anxiety and everyone turned back to their plates. When all were nearly full, the platters were cleared instantly and a bountiful supply of desserts appeared in their place: cakes, pies, custards, ice cream and cookies.

Not sure he could eat more but unable to resist the treats set before him, Ethan served himself a slice of apple pie with maple walnut ice cream.

Between bites, Ethan surveyed the faculty table and wondered which teachers he would have for his classes. Finally he asked Kenny Sturtevant to tell him their names and subjects.

"Well, of course there's Flyte," Kenny started. "He teaches rhabdomancy, it's his specialty, but that's an upper level elective. And Bancroft you've met, History of Magic and of course he's Master of Bradbury House. So you'll see a lot of him. Then, beginning over at the left, that's Ang Hsu, he teaches Defense against the Dark Arts."

Kenny was speaking of a very short wizard with a wizened face, deep in conversation with a tall slender witch with a crescent moon and starts on her lavender hat. He continued, "He's quite excellent but tough. Has a lot of field experience fighting dark wizards. They say he turned down job offers from Hogwarts more than once. And he's talking to Mickelson, she's the Astronomy professor. Then there's Bruno Galvez, he'll take your flying lessons and phys.ed."

Kenny gestured toward a square-shouldered wizard with a thick black beard who was in animated discussion with a green-robed wizard with thinning gray hair and a rugged face.

"That's Euell Crockett who's the Herbologist. Top flight, he's written a lot of standards in the field, but don't get on his bad side. He can be worse than your worst nightmare!"

Tim, Anne and Peter Powles were also listening to the older boy carefully now. Ethan wondered if he could stay on any teacher's good side for long.

"Now that next fellow's new," Kenny noted, pointing to an elegant-looking wizard with a long-waxed mustache and a goatee wearing a many-colored robe that shimmered in the flickering light. "Must be the new Magical Arts professor. And he's talking to Professor Tiverton, the head of Tenskwatawa House, who teaches Transfiguration. He's a good enough teacher, but a bit odd; supposedly went on a European tour a few years back and he's been just a bit off ever since."

"And Lydia O'Loughlin, the Assistant Head, is next to him. She teaches Charms and heads Harrison House," Kenny continued. "Flyte's right hand, she is. And it looks like it's time for the speech."

Professor O'Loughlin, a prim looking woman with reddish hair tied back in a bun, tapped her glass with a spoon.

"Your attention, please," she said in a voice with a slight brogue. Everyone who was still eating stopped and a moment later the desserts disappeared from the tables.

"Now I trust you are all feeling comfortably fed and watered," said Cyrus Flyte. "I should like to offer a few announcements to start the term. First, I ask you to welcome our new Resident Artist and Magical Arts instructor, Roscoe Skryme. Professor Skryme is a distinguished creator of magical landscapes and portraits. His most recent works include the official portrait of the Secretary of Magic, which is on view at the Department in Washington."

Students and faculty joined in applauding Skryme, who responded with a nod and a cheery wave.

"Now, there are some notices, mostly for the benefit of our new students, although I daresay some of you old hands would do well to listen again," Flyte continued. "The Haunted Swamp and Spook Woods are off limits to all students. Senor Galvez has also asked me to emphasize that no flying is allowed on the east side of the school. Quidditch practice will begin week after next; anyone interested in trying out for their house team should contact Senor Galvez. All students are reminded that school rules, as well as Department of Magic regulations, prohibit any harassment of local muggles; please keep that in mind during the Halloween holiday."

"Our Keeper of Buildings, Mr. Beadle," Flyte continued, pointing towards a gruff-looking and unkempt man standing at his far left, "has asked me to note that students are prohibited from doing magic in the corridors between classes. A complete list of forbidden activities is posted outside Mr. Beadle's office for your edification."

"Finally, I wish to make some remarks--which I promise I will keep brief--on the state of the wizarding world at the beginning of this school year," Flyte said. "For as you begin another year of studies in this special place, I must tell you that our world has become more dangerous than it has been these many years."

As he spoke these words, the headmaster's tone became unmistakably serious; the faculty picked up on this immediately and turned to Flyte gravely, with the exception of Skryme the artist, who was looking off towards the students. Many of the latter also concentrated on Flyte's tall, gaunt figure.

"I have learned from the most reliable source that Lord Voldemort returned to England at the beginning of the summer." Any students who had not been paying attention turned towards the front of the hall at the mention of the Dark Lord's name. Professor Skryme snapped out of his reverie. He also turned to look at the headmaster, but not before his eyes met Ethan's with a very curious look.

"I know that many of you are predisposed not to believe this news," Flyte continued. "If you or your parents follow the wizarding press then you may have formed the opinion that the return of Voldemort is merely the product of the imagination of an unstable young wizard."

At the second mention of Voldemort's name, the entire room seemed to wince. Flyte paid no attention and continued, "I believe that the press, regrettably, has been induced to spread this explanation by those who, for their own reasons, prefer that we continue to think that all is well."

"I must tell you that I believe that Lord Voldemort has indeed returned and that he has lost neither his malice nor his potency. My source is none other than Albus Dumbledore, my colleague and the great enemy of Voldemort. Further, as our good Professor Bellamy can confirm, the signs of this evil wizard's return have been quite clear to those who have been open to the Inner Eye over the past few years."

A somewhat wispy witch in a burgundy robe and hat to Flyte's right nodded briefly. The hall was nearly silent.

"Why do I think it important to share this news with you?" the headmaster commenced once more. "For over two centuries, this school has endeavoured not only to teach the skills of magic but also the ethical use of those skills. We must together, faculty and students, strive for these goals more than ever now. To pretend that evil does not exist merely makes it more difficult for good to prevail. Many of your parents and older siblings experienced the atrocities of Voldemort's first rise. Some of you have lost loved ones to his forces. I know that I do not need to convince _you_ that he must not be allowed to triumph, least of all from neglect. I ask that the rest of you at least read the news with a skeptical eye. That is all I have to say."

The assembled school took a collective breath and then everyone began talking at once.

"Leave it to the old man to wake people up," Kenny said. "And to say what needs to be said."

But Peter Powles looked worried.

"My mom says Dumbledore must be getting senile to believe the stories Harry Potter's telling," he said. "She said she'd never send Katrina or me to a school with a head like that. I hope she doesn't hear about this."

"Don't tell him, then," Tim suggested. "My folks are muggles. They don't read wizard papers and I'm sure not going to tell them either that an evil wizard is on the rise or that our headmaster believes crackpot stories. If I did, I'd be back in the wheat fields before you could say "Saskatchewan.""

Maddie Morrigan said, "Well, my mom works at the Department of Magic and she says that it's probably true, but the higher-ups can't admit it; after all, they've spent the past fourteen years telling everyone that You-Know-Who was gone for good."

"But doesn't it seem just a bit odd that it's that Potter kid who says he saw You-Know-Who," asked Marcus Gibson. "I mean his parents were killed by You-Know-Who and he survived. I can see how he might be obsessed with You-Know-Who."

"Well, think about it," countered Anne Findlay. "If you were Lord Whosit, and you'd been defeated by a baby 14 years ago, who would you go after when you finally came back? Makes sense to me. What do you think, Ethan?"

As Ethan had listened to Flyte and the conversation that followed, he'd turned over in his mind what he'd learned from his parents and his own experiences in Old Solomon's Row and on MagiTrak. Hearing Anne address him, he stopped his musing and spoke slowly.

"Me? If I were Voldemort?"

Nearly everyone at the table flinched again.

"Don't say the name!" Peter blurted out. "it's bad enough that Flyte keeps saying it!"

Tim said quickly, "If you were You-Know-Who? I know what I'd do...duck!"

This seemed to relax everyone; anxiety was replaced by laughter.

Ethan said, "Well, my parents never thought You-Know-Who was gone for good. And if he's back, he'll probably want to pick up where he left off. Which means that anyone who stood up to him last time better pay attention."

"Too right," Kenny agreed and added grimly, "And the rest of us better be ready for a war."

Only a few minutes had passed since Flyte had finished talking, though it seemed much longer. He again arose, motioned for silence.

"Now, since we have obviously stimulated your minds as well as filled your stomachs, let us conclude with the school cheer and then send you all off to bed. Old-timers, you know this by heart; for our newcomers, follow along and join in!"

Flyte raised his wand above him and sent jets of purple smoke into the air. Near the ceiling they exploded like fireworks, then cascaded down and formed words. He began in his deep voice; the faculty and students joined in:

_Kaaterskill, Kaaterskill  
up on the hill,  
Empty heads you need to fill,  
with wisdom and knowledge  
until we're ill.  
We're ready to learn  
if you're ready to teach,  
all we ask is please don't preach.  
Kaaterskill, Kaaty Skilly Kaaterskill  
best of magic schools,  
we'll mostly follow rules,  
try not to act like fools,  
and study 'til we drool.  
We'll make you proud  
we're in your crowd  
and think until our minds implode._

When they finished, Flyte said with an indulgent smile, "Ah, it does my heart good to hear true school spirit! Now, I must remind you, classes begin bright and early in the morning. So, off to bed with you!"

The Bradbury first-years followed Kenny out of the Assembly Hall and up a large spiral staircase at the center of the building. Up and around they went, climbing slowly past the second floor to the third. There they filed down a long corridor, turned right at the end and right again onto another staircase. Exhausted from a long and unusual day, Ethan wanted nothing more than a comfortable bed.

"You'll want to pay attention to the upper stairs, they like to change," Kenny was saying. "This one is usually the most direct route to Bradbury Tower. The elevators are reserved for faculty and 7th year students; they've got age-sensitive charms on them, so don't push your luck."

As they reached the upper levels of the building, their route became more complicated. At one point, Kenny stopped and pressed the nose on a marble bust of a bald wizard. The adjacent wall slid open to reveal a side passage. At the end of the passage, they turned down a staircase. But as Ethan sensed his feet going down the stairs, his eyes told him that they were in fact going up.

Kenny called through the first-years' confused chatter, "This is the Disconcerting Stair. Once you reach the bottom, you'll find yourself at the top; going down from the dormitory, you'll appear to be going up. Don't worry, you'll get used to it in a day or two."

At the bottom of the stair, which was one floor up from the top, Ethan saw that they'd reached a small hall that seemed to be a dead end. Before them hung a portrait of a soldier dressed in the costume of the ancient Dutch settlers, with a blunderbuss over one shoulder.

The soldier in the painting surveyed the students, and then said brusquely, "Pahssvord?"

"Wolfsbane," Kenny replied. The soldier saluted as his portrait swung off the wall to reveal an arched doorway.

Kenny stepped in and they found themselves in a room with windows on three sides and a large fireplace on the other. Over the fireplace hung a large coat of arms in needlework, featuring the Bradbury mountain lion. Several library tables were scattered around the room, as were a number of armchairs and sofas that Ethan thought looked cushy enough to sleep in. Then again, he was beginning to think he could sleep standing up.

Opposite the door at the end of the room, two staircases led up to the dorm rooms. Kenny directed the boys up the staircase to the right and the girls up the one to the left.

Ethan, Tim, Peter, Marcus and Kyle trudged up the stairs to the boys' dorm. Three more short flights up they found the first-years' room. Thoroughly tired, Ethan wasn't even surprised to find the room furnished with five old-fashioned high-post beds complete with bed hangings, decorated with a colorful print of pine woods and mountain lions. Next to each bed was a stand with a candlestick, pitcher and bowl. They found their trunks at the foot of the beds and their owls' cages hung next to the windows.

"Hi, Bucky!" Ethan yawned as he opened the cage to give the bird a good night stroke and a bit of food.

Five extremely sleepy boys got into their pajamas, blew out their candles and climbed into bed in near silence.

"'Night all," Tim muttered from his bed opposite Ethan's, as he pulled the bed hangings shut. Four other vague "good nights" answered from behind the other four sets of bed curtains. Ethan fell into a sound sleep immediately.

Whether from overeating or simply over stimulation, Ethan passed into a very strange dream. He was sitting in a chair in the middle of an empty Assembly Hall. Professor Skryme, the artist, was standing at an easel a few feet away. His colorful robe shimmered as he pointed a wand at the canvas and swished it back and forth as if it was a paintbrush.

Skryme stopped to admire his work, gestured to Ethan and said, "Come, have a look." Ethan stood next to the artist and gasped in horror, for he saw his own image on the canvas, standing atop a rock in a forest, wrapped in the coils of an enormous snake.

Skryme gave a cold, cruel laugh. As Ethan turned towards him, the artist changed into the tall, elegant figure of Lothar Barghest in his purple robe.

"I see you've inherited the Lloyd knack for sticking your neck where it doesn't belong, boy! Don't say I didn't warn you!"

Barghest's body changed into Simon Brocklebank and the curly-haired boy laughed as he watched Ethan struggling with the serpent in the painting. "Go home to your muggle friends, Lloyd! You don't belong here; you're in way over your head!"

A jagged flash of lightning illuminated the ceiling of the hall and Brocklebank changed before his eyes into a tall, raven-haired wizard whose eyes glowed red in the now-dark hall.

"Hastings!" Ethan gasped as the man raised his snake-headed cane and pointed it at Ethan.

"Look out!" Ethan heard himself call out of the painting, but it was too late. Like his painted self, Ethan found himself wrapped in the constricting spirals of the snake's body. His last vision was of Hastings, eyes flashing, laughing at him, not the mocking schoolboy laugh of Brocklebank, but the icy cold laugh he'd heard from Skryme. In a flash of green light, Ethan woke, trembling and tangled in his sheets. He looked around wildly, disoriented in the unfamiliar bed, but he heard only gentle breathing and snoring from his roommates. With that, he rolled over and fell asleep again.


	8. Getting Off the Ground

_Chapter Eight:_

_Getting Off the Ground_

Ethan awoke to the sound of earnest voices across the room.

"How does this work?"

"Oh, I see, today's a Thursday, so we have Defense Against the Dark Arts first."

"It's in the basement, with the Harrisons. What a way to start off!"

"Well, at least they rotate. We only start off in the basement once a week."

Ethan poked his head out of the bed hangings, reached for his glasses and saw Peter Powles and Marcus Gibson conferring over a scroll.

"Good morning, Ethan," Marcus said. "Sorry if we woke you, but breakfast started fifteen minutes ago, which means we've got just over an hour until class."

"So that's our schedule?" Ethan asked as he climbed out of bed to look at the scroll. "Gee, they don't exactly give us much free time, do they?"

"Nope," said Peter glumly. "Wednesday between about 4 and dinner time is "free study," but every other day we're in class from 8:30 to 5:00."

"Well, the last session the other four days is either art, music or flying," Marcus observed. "So at least the end of the day isn't heavy-duty stuff."

"And since this is Thursday, that means we have our first flying lesson this afternoon!" Peter said more enthusiastically.

Tim came in from the bathroom, already dressed.

"Hey, Tim, you don't need to wear your hat to class," Peter told him. "Unless of course the professor requires it."

"Oh, OK," Tim replied, looking abashed. "Thanks, Pete. Hey, we better wake Kyle, he'll be late."

Ethan rummaged in his trunk, pulled out his clothes and started getting dressed.

Marcus, Peter and Tim went over to the bed at the end of the room. Marcus gave a whispered count of three and then all of them called out, "Good morning, Kyle!"

A groggy-sounding Kyle answered them from within the bed curtains.

"Don't want to ruin your beauty sleep, man," Marcus intoned. "But it's almost 7 and by the time we find our way out of this tower and down to breakfast, we'll barely have enough time to get to class."

"OK, I'm up," Kyle said as he emerged from his bed.

"Don't want to lose any points on the first day," Peter said.

Fifteen minutes later the five of them, each with a heavy book bag on his back, headed through the common room door and back up the Disconcerting Stair on the way down to breakfast. Ethan wasn't sure that having five minds trying to remember the route was an advantage. They took several minutes to figure out how to get the sliding door to open from the other side--Marcus leaned on the right panel purely by accident--and a few minutes later they had a major disagreement deciding which way to turn at the bottom of a staircase.

"Can we even be sure it's still going the same way it did last night?" Tim asked. "I'm going to the right. I figure I've got a 50/50 chance of being right. You're all welcome to follow me; or you can keep talking until class time."

The others shrugged and followed him, happy that someone had taken the initiative. And they were glad they had when they hurried into the Assembly Hall a few minutes later and sat down at the Bradbury table for breakfast.

The first-year Bradbury girls were just finishing breakfast.

"We wondered when you'd manage to make it down here," Anne said impishly. "Come on; gulp down some breakfast so we can find the Dark Arts classroom together."

The boys rolled their eyes at this remark. Ethan hurried through a glass of orange juice and porridge. The others also finished quickly. At about a quarter to eight, Kenny Sturtevant came walking alongside the table, with an air of seriousness suitable for a proctor.

"Come on now," he exclaimed. "Off to the dungeons with you. Down the Main Hall, take the second hallway down to the left, then head down the first staircase on your right. It's the classroom with the _Ki-lin_ tapestry hanging outside."

Yawning, Tim asked, "What's a _Ki-lin?_"

"A kind of Chinese unicorn," Kenny told him. "You can't miss it...unless you get caught up on the collapsing stair tread half way down there...keep your eyes open!"

Led by Anne, the girls marched out of the Assembly Hall, the boys scrambling after them. By the time they reached the Main Hall, they joined the confused throngs off to classrooms all over the building.

From behind him, Ethan heard a voice calling him. He glanced back and saw Edwin Malinowski rushing to catch up.

"Do you know where you're going?" Edwin asked breathlessly. "I know we both have Ang Hsu first period. I don't know where the rest of the Harrisons have got to."

"Well, if I can follow them," Ethan answered, pointing to Anne and the other Bradburys ahead of them, "I can probably get you there."

Now they zipped around the corner into the side hallway, then quickly down the staircase. At this point, Ethan almost ran up someone's back and Edwin pulled up short behind him, for everyone had slowed down to avoid the trick stair.

Once at the bottom of the stairs, Ethan saw why Kenny had called it the "dungeon" rather than just the basement. Lit only by occasional torches, the hall was gloomy, with shadows flickering into the distance. The floors were dark, irregular stones. Several suits of medieval armor loomed along the corridor. Even the paintings seemed less friendly. One featured a wizard fighting a trio of threatening trolls. Another depicted a somewhat sinister alchemist pouring silvery liquids into a retort.

Outside the second classroom hung a tapestry featuring a most unusual creature, which seemed to have the body of a deer, horse hooves, the tail of an ox and scales instead of fur. A single horn jutted out of its forehead, but it certainly didn't match Ethan's vision of a unicorn.

Into the classroom the first-years rushed. Rows of long desks with several chairs each were arranged to left and right. Edwin saw that most of his housemates had already arrived and occupied the right side of the room.

"Thanks, Ethan," he said as he found a seat next to Cindy Hotaling. The Bradburys filled in the left side. Ethan sat down, next to Tim, and flung his bag down on the floor next to him. He quickly pulled the text, _Light in the Darkness: Strategies for Defense Against the Dark Arts,_ out of the book bag.

A moment later, Ang Hsu walked slowly to the center of the room from an office off to the left. Ethan thought he looked even shorter and older than he had appeared the night before. But his hazel eyes danced with a youthful gleam as he surveyed the new students. He walked up to the front of the room and bowed deeply to the class.

"Good morning, class," he said in a measured voice. "It seems I have the privilege of giving the first class of your careers here. Defense Against the Dark Arts. Why do you think we teach such a subject here?"

Suddenly shy, the new students sat silently for a few seconds.

"Any ideas?" the professor asked as he looked over the room. "Let's see now...Mr. Lloyd?"

"Ummm," Ethan stammered as he tried to think. "Because...because not all wizards are good?"

A few tentative snickers broke out.

"Not all wizards are good," Hsu repeated. "Absolutely right. Five points to Bradbury, Mr. Lloyd. In the very nature of things, good and evil are always struggling with each other. The world is always seeking balance, balance between dark and light, order and chaos, sun and moon. In the world you have now entered, the fortunes of good and evil have ever ebbed and flowed. Whenever dark wizards have sought domination, good wizards have arisen to reestablish harmony and balance. And always new dark wizards emerge to challenge. It is my role to equip you for your part in the eternal struggle. Now, what do you think I should teach you first?"

This time hands were raised all over the room.

"Ah, Mr. Rozema? What do you think?"

A red-haired Harrison boy volunteered, "How to defeat an Imperius Curse?"

"Very well. Another...Mr. Gibson?"

"How to resist dementors?"

"An important skill. But let's see...one more, at least; Miss Morrigan?"

"How to block an evil wizard probing your mind?"

"Excellent suggestion. All excellent. Five points each to your houses. But, as a wise muggle once said, education often makes a straight ditch out of a free, meandering brook. We must resist that path, scholars," Hsu admonished them. "Before anyone can teach you to resist curses, you must learn to find harmony in your own minds. So the first thing I ask you to do is this: Relax and close your eyes. Imagine inner harmony. Let your anxieties and worries slip away. Empty your minds of disharmony. Be at peace with yourselves and the world."

As Hsu spoke, Ethan had closed his eyes and begun taking long, slow breaths. He tried to visualize his worries: a huge lamp falling at the ballpark, the break-in on the train, his fears of failure at school, a vague recollection of troubling dreams. As the professor continued in his soothing voice, Ethan watched as each of these concerns drifted away. What remained seemed to be a warm glow, within which he caught glimpses of his parents, the Belangers, his friends in Madison, Bucky, his new roommates and, oddly, the gaunt figure of Cyrus Flyte.

Hsu stopped talking and the only sound was that of the slow breathing of twenty students. Gradually Ethan realized that some sounded remarkably like they were snoring.

"Very good, now open your eyes," Hsu directed. As Ethan opened his, he realized that Tim had relaxed so completely he'd fallen asleep. Ethan elbowed him gently and he awoke, a bit startled.

"Did you all feel the inner harmony?" Hsu asked. "A very good start, I would say. And for those of you who relaxed so much as to fall asleep, I say you did very well. However, do not expect me to allow you to sleep in this class for long. As you learn to discipline your inner selves, we will begin to explore how you may use that discipline against the dark forces of wizardry."

At the end of the hour, Ethan felt very relaxed but not entirely certain what Defense Against the Dark Arts was about.

There wasn't much chance to think about it, as the Bradburys had to rush upstairs to the Transfiguration classroom on the 2nd floor, where Terence Tiverton taught them together with the Tenskwatawas. Tiverton seemed to be Tsu's opposite in temperament and approach. A pale wizard with a brown birthmark on one cheek, Tiverton was given to excited discussion of various transfiguration techniques, punctuated by nervous tics. Occasionally he would stop short and gaze off into space.

Ethan discovered that Tiverton was not above favoring his own house in class, either. He tended to direct the more difficult questions to the Bradburys and was much more forgiving of his own house when they answered incorrectly.

Tiverton did impress everyone when he turned his desk chair into a llama and back, but he then gave rather confused instructions to the class on how to transform wood screws into nut picks. Ethan had no luck following the directions and his screw was unchanged at the end of the class. It was some comfort that the students who'd grown up in wizarding families did no better. In fact, only Tim Van der Meulen had any luck at all. He'd managed to remove the threads from the screw and hook the end, although it still had a slotted head.

At lunch, he had a chance to share impressions with his housemates, but not before he got a bit of a ribbing.

"What did you think of Dark Arts?" Jennifer Appelbaum asked.

"Well, I thought it might be more hands-on," Peter said.

"At least we won't forget why we need it, thanks to Ethan," Marcus said.

"What do you mean?" Ethan asked.

"You know...'Not all wizards are good'!" Peter chimed in. "That was so profound, dude!"

Everyone giggled and Ethan blushed.

"Hey, I was talking off the top of my head, guys."

"Well, it got us our first five points, so I'm not complaining," Tim said. "And Marcus and Maddie got us ten more."

After lunch it was off to the Astronomy classroom at the top of Harrison Tower for a class shared with the Tituba students. There Ethan learned that on Wednesdays at midnight, they'd be up doing observations.

On the way to Herbology, which took place out in the greenhouses with the Harrisons, Ethan grumbled.

"I can't believe we have to be up every Wednesday night looking at stars. So much for Wednesday being an easy day."

"Thursday mornings, you mean," Tim corrected him. "Not that it makes a difference. I had a hard enough time waking up _this _morning as it is."

Looking to his left as they neared the greenhouses, Ethan saw a low stone cottage across a field across the road. Beyond the ground looked marshy. Still further to the west, woods towered over the swamp and enclosed the school grounds.

"I heard that that's where Standish, the Grounds keeper, lives," Marcus said. "Odd fellow, apparently. Probably comes from living so close to the Haunted Swamp."

"What's it haunted by?" Ethan asked.

"Not sure, exactly," Marcus answered. "But there's talk of werewolves, tricksters and worse. Standish is about the only one from the school who goes in there...and into Spook Woods. 'Least that's what the proctors say."

At the door of Greenhouse Number Two, Euell Crockett beckoned to the students impatiently.

"Come, come, ladies and gentleman," he barked. "We haven't all day, you know."

Crockett was wearing brown work robes under a dirty smock. His thinning hair stood up wildly in all directions. His face was etched with deep lines so that Ethan thought he resembled a carved stone statue. His eyes were blue, but tinged with spidery red lines, as if he wasn't getting enough sleep.

The students lined up along a plant table that ran the length of the greenhouse, Harrisons along one side, Bradburys along the other. Many plants--some ordinary-looking, others quite outlandish--lined the center of the table. Ethan saw before him a spindly plant with yellowish flowers and a few broad green leaves along its stalk. Next to him, Tim examined a bushy plant with many feathery silver-grey leaves. Further down the table Edwin was looking at a lush dark-green plant with purple flowers and a pair of leaves shaped remarkably like human hands.

Crockett took roll call, sometimes pausing to eye a particular student more carefully or to make a comment about parents or older siblings he'd taught years earlier.

"Anne Findlay," he growled. "I trust you will apply yourself to herbology more effectively than your brothers."

"Jeremy Holsapple. I hope you've inherited your mother's talent for herbology; I'm afraid your father was hopeless in this class."

"Now, let's begin," Professor Crockett began in a guttural voice as he walked around the table. "First of all, know that there will be little in the way of wand-waving and spell-casting in this class. Here you will learn the subtle magic of the amazing plants that we find all around us. Some of you may be surprised that seeking out rare flowers, digging up roots and harvesting seeds is even worth the consideration of witches and wizards. I can assure you, however, that in this greenhouse you may learn to counter some of the most evil curses conceived by wizardkind. If you apply yourselves to my lessons, you will sharpen your awareness of the magic found in ordinary plants and discover rare herbs with properties muggles--and even many of our own kind-- would dismiss as fantasies or nightmares. For those few of you with a true aptitude for herbology, I can show you plants that will wake those who seem dead, show you the inner thoughts of your enemies, even preserve a man in a dreamless trance for years."

Most of the students paid close attention to Crockett's speech. Some seemed genuinely fascinated; the rest simply looked terrified by this gruff wizard and the unknown powers of the plants before them. Ethan had started jotting down notes with his quill when Tim nudged him.

"Do you know what this is?" he whispered, pointing at the plant in front of him. "It looks like something I've seen...or maybe it was in his book."

"My mom has that in her herb garden, I'm sure," Ethan whispered back. "What is it? Wormwood, that's it!"

They hadn't noticed that Crockett had come up their side of the table until they heard his voice directly behind them.

"Of course, at a minimum, I expect that each of you will _pay attention_ in class," Crockett said acidly. "Let's see now, Mr. Lloyd, is it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Griffin and Diana Lloyd's son?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, perhaps a child of such illustrious parentage comes to us with such natural talent that he need _not_ listen in class," Crockett continued. "So, Mr. Lloyd, what is the primary use of _Mimulus Cupriphilus?_"

Ethan blushed crimson. _Mimulus what_? he thought to himself. A quick look at Tim revealed that his friend knew no more than he.

"I don't know, sir," Ethan said quietly.

"You don't know, eh?" Crockett snorted derisively. "Thought you could coast here, son? Well, let's try again, Lloyd. Lobelia and hellebore can be combined to what effect?"

Ethan felt like crawling under the table by now. Even if he'd known this answer, he was so flustered he doubted he'd be able to repeat it. Snickers could be heard from some of the Harrisons opposite him. He saw a raised hand down the table to his right, which he saw belonged to Maddie Morrigan. Crockett ignored her.

"I don't know, sir," Ethan said again, staring at the table.

"You don't know?" Crockett repeated, one eyebrow arched disdainfully. "Dear, dear, it appears that having the right parents doesn't count for much these days. Well, Lloyd, once more. If my colleague Professor Renfro offered you a potion made with aconite, should you drink it or massage it into your skin?"

Ethan thought about guessing the answer to this question. After all, he figured, he had a fifty percent chance of being right. But he decided that Crockett would realize he'd just been guessing if he was right and that his credit would fall even further if he guessed wrong. He noticed that Edwin had raised his hand, down to Ethan's right on the Harrison side.

"I don't know, sir. But Edwin may, why not ask him?"

"Because I'm asking you," Crockett said curtly. Edwin sheepishly lowered his hand. "Now, Lloyd, allow me to enlighten you. _Mimulus Cupriphilus_ --an example of which sits before you at the moment-- may be used in an infusion or a talisman that will give you courage against any fear that you can name. Lobelia and hellebore are powerful sedatives; they may be combined in a potion known as Rip's 20-Year Sleeping Draught, for which there is but one known antidote. Aconite may be used as a liniment to heal boils such as those caused by exposure to bubotuber pus, but when ingested is a swift and effective poison."

He glanced up and down the table. "I trust that all of you have taken note of that." Parchments rustled and quills scratched. "And I hope that you all understand...I don't care a whit who your parents are or how interested you are in this subject. You will all work in this class or you will fail. If you fail, you will work harder until you succeed. Oh, and that will be two points from Bradbury, Lloyd, for your dismal performance."

Ethan felt this was most unfair, but thought better of saying anything to Crockett. And that made him feel even more miserable for the remainder of the class.

Crockett described each plant on the table in some detail. Ethan took notes along with everyone else, but without much enthusiasm, even for the stranger plants. The odd plant with hands in front of Edwin turned out to be a Grasping Galardia, known for its extremely firm handshake.

As he left the greenhouse, Ethan wondered whether he might prefer Mrs. Schwartzberg to Crockett and Tiverton. He was lost in his own thoughts for a few minutes and didn't notice that Tim was hurrying to catch up to him.

"Hey, Ethan, wait up!"

"Are you sure you want to hang around a worthless slacker like me?" Ethan asked gloomily.

"Oh, come on man, don't take him seriously," Tim said.

"You heard what Kenny said last night," Ethan retorted. "'Don't get on his bad side.' I should lose another five points for not following proctors' directions."

"If you ask me, he seemed to have it in for you," Tim said. "You didn't do anything that terrible. He could just as easily have picked on me."

"Yeah, but that doesn't make me feel any better," Ethan sulked. "If he just doesn't like me --or my family-- I may not be able to do anything right in his eyes."

"Buck up, you're still three points ahead on the day," Tim said breezily. "And flying's next! You'll probably be a natural at that."

"Oh yeah," said Ethan, who'd completely forgotten what was next on the schedule. "I've never flown in my life. I'll probably crash into something and lose another ten points or so."

"Well, then maybe we can crash together," Tim said. "You can probably guess that I've never been on a broom either. The only one at our house stayed in the kitchen closet unless Mom was sweeping."

The other three Bradbury boys caught up to them and tried to cheer Ethan up, without much success. The others couldn't hide their enthusiasm for flying. Marcus was the only one who'd used a broom for flying and he was more than happy to offer tips to his housemates.

"Mom and Dad never let me try a broom," Peter said. "Said I wasn't coordinated enough. But they let Katrina start flying when we were 8. It's so unfair!"

"You've just got to relax, then it's easy," Marcus said. "I think some brooms sense fear, so it's best not to show it if you're nervous."

"What if you get nervous _after_ you're way off the ground?" asked Peter.

"Well, once you're in the air, the feeling's much too cool to get nervous," Marcus said. "You'll see."

"I can't wait 'til we can start playing Quidditch," Kyle said.

"Well, I'm sure as soon as Galvez sees that we can all stay in the air, he'll start us on that," Marcus asserted.

They'd arrived at the Quidditch fields on the opposite side of the school from the greenhouses. Another line of students streamed towards them from the school building. Ethan's heart sank a bit more when he recognized three of the oncoming students: smirking Simon Brocklebank and his two oversized friends, Lew Van Nort and Woody Harding.

"Oh, great," he groaned, pointing in their direction. "We're combined with the Prophet's house for flying lessons."

This news clearly dismayed Peter, who muttered, "Just what I need, Katrina looking over my shoulder."

"Come on guys, you're not really letting them bother you?" asked Anne Findlay, coming up from behind between Maddie Morrigan and Melissa Murthin. "We're going to out fly them today and when we start Quidditch, they're not going to know what hit them!"

"How can you be so sure?" Ethan asked.

"Well, the three of us have all played before," Anne said. "And Marcus, you have too, right? And believe me, playing against my brothers was tougher than Tenskwatawa could possibly be!"

There were twenty broomsticks standing in a holder at one side of the field. Their teacher, Senor Galvez, stood next to the brooms.

"Come, senors, senoritas. Take a broom and line up along here," he told them, pointing to two chalk lines across the center of the field.

As Ethan puzzled over which broom to take, Brocklebank bumped him aside and said, "Just pick one, Lloyd. It doesn't matter which one you choose, you're just going to fall off it anyway."

"In your dreams, Brocklebank," Ethan retorted. Now he was determined not to make a fool of himself, though he had no idea how he'd avoid it.

Galvez was burly, athletic and enthusiastic. He directed the students to line up across the field with the brooms on the ground next to them.

"Now, everyone, hold your right hand over the handle," he shouted. "When I count to three, bring the broom to you by saying 'Up!' Very simple, no? All right, one, two, three!"

Twenty voices cried "Up!' all at once. Twenty broomsticks reacted in about twenty different ways. Some rotated on the ground, then stopped. Others begin levitating upwards at one end or the other, only to fall back to the ground. Some twitched but didn't move up.

Ethan saw his broomstick, a somewhat bedraggled old one, rise about two inches off the ground and hover there. But Tim, to his own surprise, found that his broom immediately answered his command.

Galvez, who was walking along the line gesticulating and encouraging the students, noticed this and beamed at Tim.

"Now look here, Senor Van der Meulen has got it!" he exclaimed. "You must say 'Up!' with bravado! You are the master of the broom, take charge of it!"

Ethan shouted "Up!" again, trying to sound commanding, and to his relief the broom rose into his hand. He felt an exhilarating vibration in the wooden handle.

Within a few minutes, all the students were holding their brooms and Galvez told them how to mount the broom. Then he examined their grips and gave them instructions on how to maintain their balance once airborne.

The time for their first ascent had arrived.

"Now let us take just a little ride," Senor Galvez said. "Later, you may do more. On the count of three again, push off hard. Hold on and lean back slightly. You will rise into the air a few feet, then level off and hover there for a just a moment. To return to earth, lean forward gently."

"One, two, THREE!"

Ethan kicked the ground hard and was amazed to feel himself moving up, firmly grasping the broom. Though he was not far off the ground, the feel of the breeze blowing through his hair and buffeting the broomstick was the greatest thrill of his brief Kaaterskill career to that point. He looked to his left and saw a look of pure joy on Tim's face that he felt probably mirrored his own. Tim looked completely at home on the broom. He even took his left hand off the handle long enough to give Ethan a thumbs-up.

Not all of their classmates were doing so well. To Ethan's amusement, he saw that Brocklebank had kicked off at an awkward angle and was leaning too far back; he nearly slid off the handle before leaning forward hard and righting himself. Jennifer Appelbaum had gotten about two feet off the ground when the wind or nerves made her lose her balance and roll off the broom. She hit the ground with a noticeable thud, but seemed unhurt. Galvez hurried over, helped her up and cheered her on as she gamely tried again, this time rising about six feet off the ground.

"Now, lean forward and descend to the ground. Keep your legs springy for a good landing!"

Down they came. Kyle Stuart leaned too far forward and nose-dived back to earth. He picked himself up, only his pride damaged.

Tim seemed to land perfectly. Ethan staggered a bit as his feet touched down, but stayed up.

The rest of the hour was spent practicing takeoffs and landings; each time Galvez had them go a bit further up and gradually let them cruise around before landing.

Finally, as five o'clock approached, Galvez announced that they would finish up with a lap around the field.

"Senor Van der Meulen, you have earned the right to go first," he barked. "Senor Brocklebank will be second off the ground. Everyone else, take off after them as you are lined up. Take a nice, easy lap...this is not a race!"

Tim, who still had the same look of rapture on his face, took off and moved quickly up and away. Brocklebank, who looked miffed at being second, pushed off right behind Tim. Anne Findlay was next off the ground, followed by Katrina Powles. A few moments later, Ethan was in the air for his first real flight. He found the air currents a bit of a challenge but soon enough was moving easily around the perimeter of the field.

Despite the warning from Galvez, it looked to Ethan as though Tim and Simon were racing. Brocklebank caught up quickly and moved in front. Ethan saw him smirk and say something to Tim. Whatever it was, Tim clearly didn't like it. He yelled back at Simon and somehow accelerated right around him. Ethan wasn't yet sure how one sped up or slowed down, but obviously Tim knew. He went well ahead of Brocklebank, but about halfway around the field, Tim turned and looped back towards Brocklebank, flew under him and came alongside. Ethan, who was close to Anne Findlay by that time, still well behind the leaders, thought Tim and Simon must have been exchanging words again. Then Simon seemed to bump Tim and take off at high speed along the far side of the field.

"That was really childish," Anne called over to Ethan. "You can hurt someone, especially someone as inexperienced as Tim."

Indeed, Brocklebank had knocked Tim off balance and he spiraled down towards the ground. Ethan heard some of Simon's housemates--Harding and Van Nort, at least--chortling nearby.

Ethan closed his eyes, sure that Tim was going to crash.

Anne cried out, "Bravo! Well done, Tim!"

Ethan opened his eyes, which was good as he was about to sideswipe Peter Powles. He saw that Tim had not only righted himself but was gaining on Simon again at high speed. He whooshed by the startled Brocklebank, made a little reverse loop at the end of the run and landed effortlessly. A cheer went up from the other airborne Bradburys.

When Ethan landed, he could tell that Galvez was lecturing both Tim and Brocklebank.

"Senors, I told you not to race! There will be time for that soon enough. I'm afraid I'll have to take points from both of you. Senor Brocklebank, five points from Tenskwatawa. Senor Van der Meulen, that was a very nice escape; even if that was pure beginner's luck, I must give you credit for it. So, I will take just two points from Bradbury."

"Now," Galvez addressed the rest of the class. "That wasn't bad for the first day. Next time, we'll review and if all goes well, next Thursday I will introduce you to the game of Quidditch. Off to your houses, then!"

The Bradburys showered Tim with cheers and congratulations as they headed back to the school building.

"That was wicked, man!" Marcus exclaimed. "Are you sure you've never been on a broom?"

"How'd you get out of that dive, Tim?" Anne asked. "That really was a great escape!"

Tim just smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

"Don't ask me to explain," he said. "'cause I can't. Sure was fun, though."

Katrina Powles walked by the knot of Bradburys and caught the eye of her twin.

"Hi, sis," Peter said. "What'd you think of that? Not so bad, eh?"

"Well, Mom and Dad will be relieved to hear you didn't kill yourself...I guess," Katrina said haughtily.

Simon Brocklebank sauntered by and said loudly, "Don't lower yourself talking to that crew, Katrina. Come on!"

With that Katrina turned on her heel and walked away into the midst of her own housemates. Peter looked a bit crestfallen.

Brocklebank wasn't quite finished with the Bradburys himself, though. With Woody Harding and Lew Van Nort behind him, he called into the crowd.

"Hey, Van der Meulen!"

Tim turned toward him. "What do you want?"

"You think you're hot stuff now, mudblood! Enjoy it while you can, 'cause we're going to make your life miserable out here!"

"Well, I'm shaking in my boots. How about you, Ethan, aren't you scared by the big man?"

"Bullies don't frighten me," Ethan replied. "And that's all he is."

"I'll see you later, too, Lloyd," Brocklebank hissed. "You'll wish you'd never left your dear muggles behind."

Marcus, Kyle and Anne had been muttering to each other during this exchange. As Brocklebank spoke, the Bradburys began encircling him and his two friends.

"I think you're a bit out of place, Simon," Anne interrupted. "If I were you I'd get out of here before you have an unfortunate accident."

Just then, Bruno Galvez reached the students. Sensing trouble, he asked, "What's going on here then?"

"Simon was just explaining why I should keep an eye on my back, sir," Tim said mildly. Ethan couldn't suppress a grin.

Galvez gave Tim and Brocklebank a severe look, then waved the Tenskwatawas back to their own group.

"Back to your dormitories now! And I don't want to hear about any more problems. Off you go then."

Later that evening, most of the first years lounged in the Bradbury common room talking over their eventful first day.

Kenny Sturtevant ambled over around 8:30 to join their discussion.

"So I hear you had quite a day, especially out on the playing fields," he remarked. "And someone cost us two points. That's a serious matter."

Tim blushed but said nothing. His classmates murmured in protest.

"But Kenny, he was really great out there!" Ethan blurted out. "Even Galvez thought so. He took five points away from Brocklebank."

"I see," Kenny said, trying but failing to look severe. "I guess I'll have to take that into account in considering what action to take."

Tim was now shrinking into his armchair, apparently attempting to become invisible.

"You're not going to punish him, are you?" Anne asked incredulously. "Not for standing up to a bullying loudmouth?"

"Punish him?" Kenny asked, no longer able to keep from grinning. "Punish him? I don't think so. Actually, I think I'll just shake his hand for now. Oh, who was it anyway?"

Everyone pointed at Tim, still blushing violently but now smiling too.

"Congratulations, Van der Meulen!" Kenny said, shaking his hand vigorously. "I ran into Danny Dewin at dinner. He's the keeper on our Quidditch team (I'm a chaser); he saw the whole thing from the main field. Says you're a natural, which is good, since we haven't had too many good flyers the last couple of years."

"Do you think Tim should try out for the team, Kenny?" Ethan asked.

"Well, let's not get ahead of ourselves," Kenny cautioned. "First-years aren't usually considered for the house teams. You'll be busy enough learning the game from Galvez and scrimmaging with the other houses' first-years. But let's just say we'll be keeping a close eye on your progress. Sometimes we can have a first-year as a reserve."

"I'm sorry I lost house points," Tim finally spoke up. "But I'm not sorry about anything else. It all felt right, including racing Brocklebank...especially beating him."

"Well, normally losing house points isn't looked on too kindly," Kenny said. "But when the honor of the house is involved, sometimes it can be overlooked. Don't make it a habit, though."

"I won't, believe me," Tim said sincerely.

"Well, I have an essay for Rhabdomancy yet to finish tonight, so I'm going to the library," Kenny said. "See you later."

"That reminds me," Ethan said. "I'd better get to work on Crockett's assignment." The herbology professor had told the class to bring a ten-inch scroll the next day detailing the culture and uses of the plant that had been in front of them that afternoon. "I'd better have something decent written about _Mimulus_ or he'll think I'm hopeless."

So he spent the next hour or so reviewing the entry for _Mimulus _in _Magical Plants of the Americas and Their Uses_ and summarizing it on his parchment. By the time he finished, most of the other first-years had gone to bed.

When Ethan climbed the stairs to the first year dormitory, he found that all the other boys had retired already. He got into his pajamas, gave Bucky a brief pet, brushed his teeth and blew out his candle. As he was about to climb into his bed, he looked out his window for a few moments. In the darkness, he saw stars blazing over the clove and a crescent moon high in the sky. The vastness of the night sky made him feel very small indeed.

Thinking back on his day, he wondered to himself whether he belonged at Kaaterskill. Sure, he thought he could handle some of the classes. He wondered why Crockett seemed to hate him so. Then he remembered the amazing feeling of flying on a broomstick and felt better. Still, doubts nagged him. _After all, Tim's the first wizard in his family and he flies much better than I ever will_. As this thought passed through his mind, he saw a bright flash over the south end of the clove as a meteor shot through the sky. Somehow the brief blaze of light in the darkness quelled his doubts for at least one night. Ethan got into bed, closed the curtains and slept soundly until morning.


	9. The Painting Lesson

Chapter Nine:

The Painting Lesson

Ethan always remembered his first few weeks at Kaaterskill as a blur of constant motion. After that first eventful day, he still had not had three of the major subjects --Charms, Potions and History of Magic -- and two of the enrichment courses -- Magical Art and Music. Every day brought many new experiences and revelations. Day by day, week by week, Ethan absorbed the lessons of wizardry. He couldn't pinpoint the day or hour when subjects such as Potions or Defense against the Dark Arts finally seemed as natural as English or Math had in earlier years.

Ethan found he had a talent for Charms. Lydia O'Loughlin, the Assistant Head, taught the class. She had a somewhat severe manner but, unlike Crockett, she avoided comparing her current students to their parents or older brothers, sisters or cousins. Despite the fact that she was the head of Harrison House, she ran her class in an evenhanded way. She seemed genuinely pleased at Ethan's progress.

Herodotus Bancroft, the head of Bradbury House, taught History of Magic. Ethan had looked forward to this class more than most, for ever since he had opened _Magical Beginnings_ he had wondered how the world of wizardry had developed and why it had been concealed from muggles. He found that his classmates weren't as enthusiastic. Tim didn't seem as curious and Marcus was certain that History would be the most boring class on the schedule. Even Anne seemed certain that the class would consist mostly of memorizing the dates of important conventions, decrees and wars that had occurred centuries earlier.

"We'd probably get as much from interviewing the ghosts around here," she surmised.

In the event, Bancroft delighted Ethan and surprised the doubters. Both his method and his manner seemed calculated to keep the students interested in the subject. He paid more attention to his appearance than most of the professors, as Ethan had noticed on the day of their arrival on the steamboat. Bancroft was given to wearing colorful and elegant robes. A broad smile frequently graced his distinguished-looking face and he had an easy manner that relaxed his students in class.

Perhaps as important, Bancroft rarely lectured to the class.

"History is the interpretation of the past," he told them in the first class. "I expect each of you to become a historian in your own right. We will read texts together, discuss the events that have made the world of magic as we know it in North America today, and we will all learn to interpret the past. Without an understanding of those who have gone before us, we may float aimlessly in the present and we may struggle to shape the future. And believe me, interpreting the past can be every bit as tricky as divining the future."

That first class, Bancroft explained that he would base their studies on important themes of wizarding history, rather than follow a strict timeline. The first several meetings would be devoted to discussing the decision of the International Council of Wizards in 1692 that the magical community must be segregated and hidden from muggles. Each student was to adopt the role of one of the participants and present their point of view in a re-creation of the Council meetings.

If Charms and History of Magic proved to be two of Ethan's favorite classes, Potions was another story entirely. The class met in the dungeon down the hall from Hsu's classroom. Socrates Renfro, the Potions master, treated his students without favoritism. He simply assumed they were all simpletons. Ethan and Tim partnered in Potions and managed to fill the classroom with an acrid purple haze during an early class while working on a simple potion for restful sleep.

Renfro was on top of them in a moment.

"Foolish boys!" he bellowed. "You added the lavender flowers before the extract of hellebore, didn't you? Five points from Bradbury for not following directions!"

Then Renfro waved his wand above his head and cried out, "_Evaporo!" _The purple smoke rose to the ceiling and vanished.

Ethan came to dread the sight of Renfro even outside class. His ashen complexion, cold, emotionless eyes and brooding visage reminded Ethan of alien creatures he'd seen in horror movies. And it didn't help that Renfro and Crockett appeared to be close friends. Ethan wondered if they planned new pitfalls for him over meals.

Ethan thought Music class somewhat pointless. Although Cecilia Pinkwater, the Resident Musician, was a jovial little witch, the class seemed to have relatively little to do with real magic. They learned school songs and house songs. She promised they would learn how to bewitch instruments but not until spring.

Ethan feared that Magical Art would also prove of little interest or use. The fact that the Bradburys shared the studio with Tenskwatawa further reduced his enthusiasm.

The enmity that had first arisen between Simon Brocklebank, Ethan and Tim aboard the steamboat had escalated into a full-scale feud between the first-years of the two houses after the first flying lesson. Brocklebank had clearly taken a position of authority amongst the Tenskwatawa first-years. While Harding and Van Nort were his most evident followers, the others sorted into the Prophet's house pointedly ignored the Bradburys when they were not engaged in taunting them. Even Malik Ibrahim, the only muggle-born among the Tenskwatawas, and Katrina Powles refused to talk to the Bradburys.

The Bradbury first-years looked up to Tim for his performance in flying, which he showed was no fluke in the weeks that followed his race with Brocklebank. But Tim spent most of his time studying and showed no desire to lead his classmates when not airborne.

Marcus and Anne were the most assertive of the other Bradburys, but neither sought to lead the class. Ethan didn't stand out either, although some of his housemates still occasionally expressed interest in his parents' exploits. He was glad that their initial curiosity about his family had subsided, as he felt he had enough on his mind already just keeping up with classes.

Roscoe Skryme, in his accustomed many-colored robe, ushered them into the fourth-floor studio on Monday afternoon. He seemed oblivious to the fact that the Bradbury and Tenskwatawa students carefully avoided acknowledging each others' presence as they found seats on opposite sides of the room.

A rich odor of roses filled Ethan's senses as he sat down. He looked around the room and saw a dozen vases full of the long-stemmed red flowers. A warm fall breeze spread the sweet smell all over the classroom. The walls of the studio were covered with paintings of all sorts: landscapes in which the sun shone dramatically through rain clouds over rugged peaks; portraits of wizards and witches, each smiling or glowering or smirking over the seated students; paintings of roses and other flowers that seemed to bend in the breeze just as surely as did the real ones; genre scenes whose characters were noisily playing wizard chess or arguing politics.

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen!" Skryme began. "I trust that you've had a wonderful day so far. I know that we'll have an excellent time Monday afternoons this year exploring the fascinating and useful world of magical arts!"

The class nodded listlessly. Actually Ethan was in a relatively good mood, for with the exception of Potions, he enjoyed his Monday schedule. But everyone was a bit tired by late afternoon and the blossoming feud between the two houses encouraged silence as well.

"You may well wonder, as I have," Skryme continued. "why this subject is considered 'enrichment' rather than a central core course. For the skills required to create a masterful magical painting rival those needed for any of your other courses. Indeed, a first-class magical painting may involve spells, charms, potions, magical plants and creatures, even the dark arts. And a painting may be one of the most powerful magical objects you will ever encounter."

This speech garnered some interest from the class. Anne Findlay raised her hand. Skryme beckoned to her.

"But, Professor, aren't paintings are just a form of decoration? How powerful can they be?"

"A very good question, Miss..?"

"Findlay."

"Yes, Miss Findlay. Ah, but once you've been exposed to the joint work of magic and pigment, you'll understand," he said with just a touch of condescension in his voice, "that these are so much more than decorations. Every portrait that is painted magically may reveal the secrets of the soul--the soul of the artist, the soul of the subject, or both. Think of it, ladies and gentlemen, the secrets of your souls passed down to posterity on canvas. Done competently, magical art comes as close as anything save the Philosopher's Stone to assuring you immortality."

Sensing a new attentiveness in his audience, Skryme continued.

"Ah, I see the promise of eternal life sounds attractive even among you, who are in the bloom of early youth. Now, I cannot teach you how to preserve your bodies uncorrupted past the normal span of your lives. But I can show you how the artist-wizard can capture not only your image but your essence in a painting that may last for centuries after you have shuffled off this mortal coil."

Ethan saw Marcus Gibson looking puzzled. He raised his hand and Skryme called on him.

"Yes, Mr...?"

"Marcus Gibson, sir. I was wondering how much of a person's...I mean what he knows and feels...how much of that can be put into a painting? And how much of that can one see in the painting later?"

"An excellent question, Mr. Gibson, to which I am afraid I can't give a definitive answer. In theory, as put forward by the eminent Claude Voldame two centuries ago, a painter of surpassing skill could embed all of a man's thoughts and memories in a portrait. The painted man, supplied not only with the gift of speech and movement but also the store of his own knowledge, could converse with his descendants many generations later with perfect ease."

"In such a case, the painting's viewers would only be aware of as much as the subject wished known. Of course, it has been theorized that the image in a magical portrait may also be susceptible to the use of certain memory charms or evil curses. But to my knowledge, this theory has yet to be proven."

With a wave of his wand, Skryme summoned twenty easels with supplies.

"Now before we get too far into unverified theory, you must begin to learn the basics of magical art. You have before you specially prepared canvases, paints and brushes. You may not believe you have artistic talent, ladies and gentlemen, but I know that inside each of you is a spark of creativity and I intend to fan that spark into a flame if I possibly can."

Now one thing Ethan had been good at in elementary school was art. He'd dabbled in drawing cartoons inspired by his X-men collection and he'd been pretty good at painting too.

"Today, I want you to try your hand at painting a rose. Start by sketching the outline of your subject in pencil. When you are done with the image of the rose, we'll practice bringing the flower to life on the canvas."

Around the room, students moved up to their easels and began sketching, a few with confidence, but most hesitantly. Ethan gazed for a minute or two at the roses arranged in a glass vase on a stand between his easel and Tim's. Then he picked up a pencil and began sketching the outline of the scene.

Tim continued looking from the roses to his easel, a helpless look in his face. Ethan caught his friend stealing glances at his work.

"How do you do that?" Tim whispered, as he tentatively began sketching the stand. "That looks good, Ethan."

"Thanks," Ethan replied. "You've just got to really see the picture in your mind. Then it takes practice. I used to draw a lot back home."

Skryme was walking around the room, looking over the students' work and exhorting them.

"Don't be afraid of making mistakes," he said. "There are no mistakes here, just opportunities for practice. Not bad there, Miss...Appelbaum, is it? Yes, you've almost got the perspective there, Mr. Powles."

The teacher arrived behind Ethan and Tim. He took a quick look at Tim's almost empty canvas. "Come on now, don't be shy," he said. "Put pencil to canvas and see what you come up with, Mr..."

"Van der Meulen, sir."

"And well, this is quite good," Skryme exclaimed, looking over Ethan's sketch and turning to him eagerly. "I think you may have a real talent for art, Mr. ...Mr. Lloyd, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

"That's a nice touch, putting Mr. Van der Meulen in the background," Skryme continued. "Jumping the gun a bit, but it's not a bad outline, so maybe you're ready. For now just finish up the sketch and in a few moments, you can start painting."

When he'd finished his sketch, Ethan tried to encourage Tim. He'd done a decent job drawing the stand, but was still floundering on the vase and roses.

"I could draw it for you, but I can't tell you how to do it," he said in frustration. "Like I said, you just have to really _see_ it. When you do that, your hand will follow the picture in your mind."

"Whatever you say, Ethan," Tim said in a resigned tone. "My mind isn't cooperating."

A few minutes later, Skryme told them to stop sketching and instructed them in use of the paints.

"Now these paints have been treated with a spell that makes them sensitive to wands. No spoken spell is needed. Start by brushing the paint on, then do the finishing work with your wand, like so."

Skryme's own easel held a sketch of an eagle; he brushed brown paint onto the feathers. Then he took up his wand; to Ethan's amazement the paint responded to the flicks of the wand just as if Skryme had been continuing to use the brush.

Ethan looked over the paints, found a red for the roses and brushed some onto his canvas. He set the brush down and took out his wand. He thought of the way he painted with a brush and imitated the motion with his wand. His right arm tingled as it had when he'd found the wand at Schlauermeister's and the paint moved as if he were spreading it with a brush.

"Wow!" he exclaimed to himself. He almost felt as if the painting was a part of him, a natural extension. The rest of the room faded from his mind and he worked, painting the flowers, the delicate vase and the stand. When they were done, he filled in the background, which included Tim's easel. Finally, he looked carefully at Tim himself, who was struggling to paint the roses, and then he painted his friend's image on his own canvas.

The hour was nearing its end when Skryme made his rounds again.

"Now, if you don't finish today, never fear. You can finish next week," he announced. He arrived at Ethan's easel and gave an approving exclamation.

"Well, Mr. Lloyd, this is just excellent for a first attempt," he said, his robes shimmering as he moved about the easel. "This will be a good example to use with the finishing spells."

"First, everyone gather around my easel," Professor Skryme said. "I've finished the eagle, a symbol of the school. To bring it to life, I will now use _Faciamus vitae, _a spell that gives the painted image of a subject--be it a person, an animal or a plant--the ability to move as the original person or thing would."

Skryme pointed his wand at the eagle, swishing it grandly and uttering the spell,

"_Faciamus vitae_!"

The painted eagle began to slowly wheel as if it was riding the air currents high above the mountains.

"Now, Mr. Lloyd," Skryme said as he turned to Ethan. "Can you please give that a try on your roses, and then on Mr. Van der Meulen?"

"OK, I'll try," Ethan said a bit nervous now that the eyes of all the other Bradburys and Tenskwatawas were on him. By now he felt completely comfortable with his wand; he waved it at the roses and cast the spell as Skryme had.

"_Faciamus vitae!_" he cried in a firm voice that he hardly recognized as his own. Immediately, the rose blossoms began moving slowly in the breeze.

Then he pointed the wand at his image of Tim and again cast the spell.

"_Faciamus vitae!_"

There was a murmur from the other students, then a cheer from the Bradburys, as they saw the image of Tim Van der Meulen start to move, looking at his easel with the same frustrated look the real Tim had worn.

"Cool!" Tim and Ethan gasped simultaneously.

"Very good, Mr. Lloyd!" Skryme gushed. "Now we have a few minutes, so let's see if we can go a bit further. The image of Mr. Van der Meulen moves naturally but would be a poor conversationalist--so far. There's another spell, more difficult, that can add Mr. Van der Meulen's mind and soul to this painting."

"Just what we need," Ethan heard Simon Brocklebank say sarcastically, "a talking portrait of Van der Muggle."

Skryme either did not hear the comment or ignored it, for he continued.

"_Accipite mentis_ is a spell that fixes the mind of the subject in the painting," he said. "It requires sustained effort on the part of the artist to succeed."

Skryme showed Ethan how to fix his wand on Tim first, say the spell, then move the wand over to the painting and repeat the spell.

"You must maintain your concentration on Mr. Van der Meulen until you sense that you have captured his essence," Skryme explained. "You'll just feel it when you've completed that. Then you'll feel the energy transferring to the painting; when it's gone you will feel that, too. Don't worry, there's nothing you can do to harm your friend."

"Pity," Brocklebank muttered.

"Shut it, Simon," Marcus hissed back at him.

"Ready, Mr. Lloyd?" Skryme asked. Ethan nodded. "Stand quite still, Mr. Van der Meulen...now on three, 1-2-3."

"_Accipite mentis!_" Ethan shouted, his wand pointed straight at Tim, who looked straight into Ethan's eyes with an odd expression. Ethan couldn't explain it, but he felt warmth moving into him through his wand as if he was a mug being filled with hot tea. After what seemed like ages but was actually about two minutes, the movement stopped.

Ethan turned to his painting, pointed the wand at the image of Tim and again spoke the incantation. Now he felt the motion flow down his arm and out from the wand tip. After a while, he felt the last of the warmth leave him. He lowered the wand. Suddenly he felt exhausted; he took a deep breath and sat down.

The image of Tim looked out of the painting and said quite clearly, "That's wonderful, Ethan, but I still don't get it! I guess I'm not cut out for art."

The Bradburys applauded loudly; even the Tenskwatawas looked impressed, though they said nothing. Tim's painted likeness turned scarlet when he realized he had a large audience.

"Oh, well done, Mr. Lloyd!" Skryme declared. "Quite excellent for a first try! Five points to Bradbury! I hope you all noted the way Mr. Lloyd held his concentration. I want you all to be doing that by the end of the year. Now, time to clean up; you can leave your paintings on the easels, I'll store them once they've dried."

Heading back to Bradbury Tower, Ethan felt happier than he had since the sorting ceremony. Here was magic that seemed to come naturally to him, the way Tim had taken to flying.

His performance kept his housemates talking that evening.

"What was it like Ethan?" Peter asked over dinner. "I mean when you were transferring Tim's thoughts and memories to the picture?"

"Well," Ethan said. "It was strange. I felt like a pitcher being filled up and then emptied."

"Cuth ya thee hith ots?" Kyle asked through a mouthful of mashed potatoes.

"Huh? Oh, his thoughts?" Ethan responded. "No, nothing like that. I could feel a flow through my wand into my body, then out the wand and into the painting."

"I thought it was a bit creepy," Marcus added. "I mean what Skryme said about casting charms and curses on a portrait."

"Yeah, don't get any ideas, guys!" Tim implored them. "And keep Brocklebank away from that painting."

"He said that was just theory," Ethan said. "I doubt it's really possible."

"I'm not really worried," Tim said lightly.

"But if you were, you could just ask Ethan to paint a broom for you to escape on, right?" Marcus snickered. Everyone chuckled.

The next morning at breakfast, the large window above the faculty table opened and dozens of owls swooshed in.

"Mail call!" Anne announced eagerly.

Ethan had gotten used to this daily occurrence. Each owl seemed to home in on its target, undistracted by the flapping and swooping of the others. Ethan saw a large hawk owl swoop past him and across to the Tenskwatawa table, where it deposited a parcel in front of Simon Brocklebank.

A snowy owl dropped a letter in front of Anne and immediately took off. A moment later, Ethan ducked as a small, brownish owl landed in front of him with a letter tied to its right leg. He quickly untied it; the owl flew off and headed out the window.

Ethan saw that the letter was from his parents; he opened it and read eagerly:

"_Dear Ethan,_

_We trust that you arrived safely and are getting settled. The first few days are bound to be a bit of a blur. We hope that you have a chance to get to know new friends and enjoy yourself. We know you'll work hard._

_Pete wanted to write you a note, so we've included that. Send your reply with Bucky and we'll make sure Pete gets it._

_Love,_

_Mom and Dad_"

Pete's note was short: "_So what are they teaching you at that school of yours, Lloyd? Mrs. Schwartzberg is a real witch so far...gave us tons of homework the first week! Write when you get a chance, Pete._"

Ethan nudged Tim, who hadn't gotten any mail, and said, "Check this out. It's from a friend in my grade back home. Says his teacher's a witch!"

"If only he knew," Tim said with a laugh.

Ethan wished he could write back to his parents and Pete right away. He found it hard to believe that it had been only one week since his father had put him on the _Hoboken Limited_ in Chicago. He suddenly remembered things he wanted to tell them as well as questions that had come to mind. But a look at his watch told him that he had about fifteen minutes to finish eating and get to Transfiguration.

The day proved to be long. Neither Transfiguration nor Herbology went well. In Astronomy, Professor Mickelson instructed them to write an essay on the principle features of the night sky as it would appear at their observation the next night. Tiverton assigned an essay on transfiguration theory to be due the next day in class. At least Flying went well; on Tuesdays, Bradbury and Tituba shared the field, which was much more pleasant than Thursdays with Tenskwatawa. But after dinner, Ethan realized he'd have to buckle down and write. By the time he was done, the common room was nearly empty.

As he put his quill away, he remembered the letter from his parents and thought briefly of answering it. But his eyelids were growing heavy. Stifling yawns, he decided to wait until the next evening to write back.

Wednesday was so busy that Ethan barely had time to think. First thing in the morning, Potions had been uneventful for a change. In Bancroft's class, he'd played the role of Randolph Gookin, a Massachusetts warlock who'd attended the 1692 conference. Tiverton had called on Ethan to read aloud from his Transfiguration essay and then corrected several errors in front of the class.

During his free time after Tiverton's class, Ethan finally had the chance to write home.

Instead of going to the library, he headed up to the Bradbury common room, pulled out a quill and some ink and unrolled some parchment. He thought for a moment about all the things he wanted to write, then decided how to begin.

"_Dear Mom and Dad_," he wrote. "_It was good to get your letter. It's been quite a week. The train trip was fine; I met a boy from Canada, Tim, who turned out to be in my house here. Oh--you were right about the wand, Dad...someone tried to steal it from the compartment, but I had it with me. The sorting was interesting--why didn't you tell me about it? I'm in Bradbury House. Professor Bancroft is Head of our house. Did you two do well in Herbology or Potions? Those professors don't seem to like me. History is really good, though, and so is Defense against the Dark Arts. I like Charms and Flying, but the best class so far is Magical Art. Professor Skryme says I have natural talent! I've only really seen Professor Flyte at the opening dinner. He announced that You-Know-Who is back. Some people don't believe him, though._

_Well, that's all for now. Tonight at midnight we do astronomy observations. I'll write Pete on a separate sheet. Won't he think it's strange to get a letter on a scroll?_

_Love,_

_Ethan_

_P.S. Do you know anything about a family called Brocklebank?"_

Then Ethan started his note to Pete. He smiled to himself as he wrote.

"_Dear Pete,_

_Thanks for the note. Sorry to hear Mrs. Schwartzberg is so tough. I have different teachers for different subjects. I'd have to say that some of them are witches, too!_

_I'm in a dorm--they call them houses here--with four of the other first-year boys. They're from all over--one is from Saskatchewan, so I'm not furthest from home._

_The food's much better than the cafeteria at Marquette. And sports are pretty cool. We have a good art teacher and history's also a good class._

_Hope the work load gets easier! Say hi to Ryan and Justin and your parents for me._

_Take care and write back,_

_Ethan"_

He folded the two letters together and slipped them into an envelope. It was almost dinner time. Ethan went up to his dorm room to find Bucky; when he got there he remembered that he'd let the owl out to hunt and visit the owl roost in the North Tower. Sending the letters would have to wait.

After dinner, Ethan, Tim, Anne and Peter trudged up to the library to do homework. Ethan took the letters with him, planning to stop at the owl roost before heading back to Bradbury.

It was almost 8:30 when Ethan shut the books he'd been using to compose his Astronomy essay.

"Where are you going?" Anne asked.

"I have to get these letters off tonight," he explained. "So I'm off to the owl roost, if I can remember how to find it."

"I know the way," Anne said. "I'm not finished, but I doubt I'll get do much in the next half-hour. I'll finish it back in the common room. Come on guys; let's get Ethan to the owl roost and back!"

Peter and Tim didn't need much persuasion. So the four Bradburys headed out of the library, which was on the third floor in the center of the school and headed for the North Tower.

"Now let's be quick," Peter said nervously. "We're not supposed to be out after 9."

"Oh come on," Anne harrumphed. "If we're a few minutes late, what can happen? We can always pretend we're 4th-years, can't we?"

She led the way, weaving down corridors, left and right, past statues of witches, wizards, centaurs and mermen. Ethan recognized some of them, so he felt pretty sure Anne was going the right way. Tim was right behind him and Peter skittishly brought up the rear.

"I hear Beadle patrols the corridors at night," he said uneasily. "And he loves catching first-years out past curfew."

"Peter, just keep up," Tim said curtly. "And we won't be out late."

"Here's the stair," Anne said brightly. "Up we go. If we'd stayed straight, we would have gotten to the entrance to Tenskwatawa House a few doors down."

"Remind me not to go that way," Tim said as they made their way up a spiral staircase that seemed to twist upwards endlessly. At intervals there were landings that opened into torch-lit corridors that ran off into darkness. Bronze gargoyles guarded each of these landings. Ethan thought they looked quite alarming and almost alive as he passed.

Not long after they passed the third landing--or was it the fourth, Ethan wondered--the stair ended in a high-ceilinged room with open clerestory windows on all sides. Their ears full of the hooting of dozens of owls, Ethan and the others knew they'd reached the school roost.

Before Ethan could survey the room to find Bucky, the owl had alighted on his shoulder.

"Hi, Buck," Ethan said, stroking the owl's tail feathers. "Hope you've had fun with your friends. Ready to do a job for me?"

Bucky hooted vigorously.

"Good!" Ethan said. "Now this needs to go to Mom and Dad."

Ethan slipped the scrolled letter into a loop attached around the bird's left leg and held Bucky up over his head. With another hoot, Bucky took off and flew up to the clerestory and out into the night.

"Thanks, guys," Ethan said to his friends. "It's 8:40. Now, let's get back to Bradbury!"

Anne again led the way, hurrying back down the spiral stair. The gargoyles glowered as they dashed downwards. At the fourth landing, Anne strode out the door into the corridor and turned left. A few yards down the hall, she stopped short before the statue of a huge, coiled snake.

"What's wrong, Anne?" Tim asked.

"I don't remember this statue, do you?" she asked, a nervous edge in her voice.

"No, but maybe we went by too fast to notice it," Tim answered.

"I couldn't miss something that big and awful. Besides, I hate snakes," she said, as she peered up and down the hall. "Somehow we got off the stairs wrong. But are we one floor above or below where we should be?"

Peter Powles had begun to make raspy whimpering noises.

"Don't tell me you're l-l-lost?" he managed to ask.

"Of course not," Anne replied, trying to sound confident without much success. "Even if we're one floor too far down, this should bring us back to the stair by the music room. Come on."

Off they trudged again, their footsteps echoing in the stillness of the hall.

"Not the most heavily used route," Ethan observed.

A few steps later, Anne came to a halt again, the others at her heels. What had appeared from a distance to be the well-lit end of the hall near the stairs turned out to be a wall, and a most unusual wall indeed.

The four of them looked at it in wonder, despite their predicament. For the hall they saw was actually painted onto a solid wall to fool the eye.

"It must be bewitched," Anne said, dejected.

"Maybe it's like the wall behind the _Tavern der Zauberer_ in Milwaukee," Ethan said hopefully.

"What's that?" Tim asked.

"It's a wall that you can walk straight through to get to Old Solomon's Row," Ethan said. "But you've got to know the right spell."

Ethan reached out with his right hand, hoping to see it pass through the wall. But his hand stopped against a solid surface.

"We don't have time to figure that out," Anne said quickly. "This way!"

The others had little choice but to follow her down a dark side passage, although it seemed to be going in a direction opposite of the one they wanted to go.

About a dozen yards down the passage, Ethan's eye was drawn to a door about a dozen yards down the passage, flanked by torches. On the door was a painted circle with a lightning bolt across the middle.

"Hold it," he said. "What's this?"

The others wheeled around.

"What's what?" Anne asked.

Ethan pointed at the lightning bolt symbol.

"There's something familiar about it," he said. "As if I should know what it means. I wonder what's in there."

"It's some sort of rune, I think," Anne said. "We can look it up in the library tomorrow."

She turned to start off again. Peter followed, but Ethan didn't move. Tim watched Ethan as he peered at the door.

Suddenly Ethan was seized with a wild desire to know what was within the room. He closed his eyes as he tried to remember an unlocking charm he'd read about in the _Standard Book of Spells, Level One_.

"Ethan, we really ought to go," Tim finally said. Anne gave Ethan a look that mingled annoyance and curiosity, but she made no further effort to leave. Peter trembled nervously; he wiped sweat from his forehead.

Ethan paid them no attention. He felt as if he was in a tunnel with the lightning bolt rune on a door at the other end, a great mystery waiting to be solved.

Somewhere far off, a clock began chiming the hour. At that moment, Ethan remembered the charm.

He pulled out his wand, walked over to the door, tapped the lock and said quietly, "_Alohomora!_"

Then several things happened at once. The lock clicked and Ethan opened the door.

Peter squealed, "Ethan, don't go in!"

The tramp of heavy footsteps sounded in the hallway from which they'd turned and a flicker of lantern light could be seen at the junction of the corridors.

"It must be Beadle!" Anne gasped.

"Quick, get in here," Tim whispered hoarsely.

No one hesitated. In seconds they were all inside the room with the door closed behind them. In the pitch darkness of the unlit chamber, they huddled against the door and listened. The footsteps sounded closer and closer. They stopped near the door.

"I know I heard someone on this floor, Professor Tiverton," said a guttural voice. "They shouldn't have been able to get far."

"No, Beadle, they shouldn't," Tiverton replied. "But there's no sign of them down here."

"Let's just have a look further down, sir," Beadle insisted. "Just in case they're headed for the stair to Tituba House."

"All right, if you wish," Tiverton assented without enthusiasm. The footsteps continued down the hall in the direction Anne had been leading them.

"OK, if they keep going that way, we can double back to the stairs," Anne whispered. "I'm almost sure we came down one level too far."

"Lucky you remembered that charm, really, Ethan," Tim said with a sigh.

Peter, who was behind the others, had been tugging at Ethan's sleeve. Ethan turned to look at him.

"Well, what is it, Peter?" he said irritably. As he turned to look at Peter, his eye was drawn further into the room and he saw what "it" was.

Or at least he saw "it." He wasn't entirely sure what he was seeing, though. He heard a sharp intake of breath from Tim and a short squeal from Anne, so he knew they were also taken aback.

The room had seemed pitch black when they'd closed the door. But now the opposite end seemed lit by an unseen source, a faint yellowish glow emanating from the walls. The room narrowed towards the back and the ceiling also seemed to drop down, so that there was barely enough space for one person at that end. At the very end of the room was a purple door, with the same lightning-bolt rune glowing gold on it.

But the odd shape of the room and the inexplicable lighting had not stunned the students.

Sitting just in front of the other door in the pale yellow light was the strangest creature Ethan had ever seen. It had short golden fur, four large paws and a tufted tail that twitched from side to side. But its head was unmistakably that of a man, with short brown hair and a scruffy beard.

"I know what that is," Anne said breathlessly. "It's a sphinx."

"You mean like in Egypt?" Tim asked shakily. "Out in the desert?"

"No, the one in Egypt is just so much carved stone," the sphinx answered with a bemused expression. "Whereas I am flesh and blood, very much alive."

"Oh great, it talks," Peter muttered.

"Well, what would you expect me to do?" the sphinx replied, sounding slightly miffed. "It's been days since anyone stopped by to see me. When four young people such as you turn up, I hope I might have a bit of wordplay, at least."

Ethan had regained the curiosity that had drawn him to this room in the first place.

"What's through that door behind you?" he asked. "Why are you here?"

"Ah, now we're getting somewhere," the sphinx replied, grinning. "Although I must say you can't know much about my kind to ask such questions."

"Sorry," Ethan said, "But you _are_ the first sphinx I've met."

"As I suspected," the beast continued smoothly. "Let me educate you then. There's nothing I like so much as a riddle. I can tell you only this about what lies beyond that door: if you can answer the riddle I ask you, I will let you pass--and you can find out for yourselves. Answer incorrectly, well, let's just say I get awfully hungry down here and a brace of young students would keep me going for a few more weeks. There is a third option, of course: if you decide not to answer the riddle, I will let you return whence you came unharmed."

"That's very fair-minded of you," said Anne guardedly.

"Yes," agreed Peter. "Can we go now?"

Ethan still felt remarkably unafraid of the sphinx, despite the beast's evident interest in snacking on students. He wasn't quite ready to leave.

"Can we decide to leave after we've heard the riddle?" he asked tentatively.

"I've already told you," the sphinx said with a disinterested nod.

Ethan desperately wanted to hear the riddle. But just then he caught sight of the sphinx sharpening it claws on the floor and he thought better of it.

"Well, thanks very much," he said with a bow. "We'll be going now."

"If you must," the sphinx said wistfully. "Do come back. I love a good conversation."

Anne opened the door to the hallway. Peter dashed past her, eager to be out of sight of the sphinx. Tim and Ethan followed and soon they were all retracing their steps to the spiral stair. Up one flight they went. Anne sighed with relief as they came out the next door into a hallway they recognized.

"Now don't forget, we've still got to be careful," Tim reminded her. "We _are_ out past curfew."

Somehow they managed to get back into their own wing of the school. When they headed down the Disconcerting Stair and saw the Dutchman ahead.

"Och! Out late, are we young ones?" the old soldier exclaimed. "Pahssvord?"

"Wolfsbane!" all four shouted at once. The door opened and they stumbled into the common room, where there were still quite a few students at work.

Marcus, Kyle and Maddie were working on star charts at one table. They all looked curiously at their classmates.

"Out for a late night stroll?" Marcus asked. "Or getting a head start on Astronomy class?"

"Neither," Peter said, as exasperation overtook him. "Findlay and Lloyd were just trying to get us killed--or worse, caught out by Beadle."

"Come on, Peter, I don't remember anyone forcing you to go along," Tim countered.

"We just went to the owl roost with Ethan to send a letter," Anne explained. "And we got a bit lost on the way back. That's all."

"So where'd you end up?" Kyle asked. "I've heard there are lots of strange nooks and crannies all over the school."

"We found one of them," Tim began.

"And you won't believe what else we found," Ethan added.

Just then Kenny Sturtevant strode up from across the room.

"You four--Van der Meulen, Powles, Lloyd and Findlay--In the proctors' lounge, please," he said, sounding severe. "I need to speak to you."

"I knew it," Ethan heard Peter mutter.

They all followed Kenny into a small room off the right side of the common room. Inside, there was a table with a half-dozen chairs, a small fireplace with a mirror above. Around the walls was a row of photographs of Bradbury proctors past--over a hundred years' worth, Ethan thought.

"Sit," Kenny ordered.

The four first-years each found a chair at the table. None spoke, though they shared furtive looks of apprehension.

"Now, I remember well how fascinating this building can be for new students," he said. "But that does not excuse blatant abuse of the curfew for younger students."

"But we just got lost coming back from owl roost," Anne explained again.

"Why you were out past curfew is not relevant," Kenny continued. "Had you been found by Beadle or a teacher, you would be in extremely hot water now. As it is, I am merely telling you not to let it happen again. And...Well, if you saw anything unusual, I advise you to keep that to yourselves. I won't report you to Professor Bancroft this time."

Four sighs of relief rose from the first-years.

"And if you want to talk about it, I will be happy to discuss this discretely with any of you," he concluded. "Now, I think you have Astronomy in a few hours. I recommend a catnap first."

"Thanks, Kenny," Ethan said quietly. On the way out of the proctors' lounge, Ethan told Tim, "I think I'll take that nap now."

"Me too," his friend replied.

They slept well enough for an hour or so. Kyle and Marcus woke them about twenty minutes before midnight.

"Come on, sleepyheads," Marcus called. "Time to go stargazing."

Up on the roof, Professor Mickelson directed them as they viewed the September stars through telescopes. Ethan recognized Vega and Capella, bright stars to the north, and saw Orion and Gemini peeking above the eastern horizon. As he gazed at the fiery points of light in the dark night sky, Ethan wondered about the riddle of the sphinx and what lay beyond the door with the golden rune.

He still wondered an hour later as he pulled the bed curtains closed once again. His dreams were filled with blazing stars in a dark void and the mysterious smile of the sphinx.


	10. A Little History

Chapter Ten

_A Little History_

The next morning the sun rose far too early, all the Bradbury first-years agreed. Ethan felt as if he was sleepwalking through Dark Arts and Transfiguration. Ang Hsu lectured on talismans and amulets. Although Ethan thought the topic sounded interesting and possibly important, he couldn't force his brain to pay close attention.

By lunch time, he'd finally begun to feel himself. He found himself sitting next to Tim as they wolfed down ham and cheese sandwiches and Indian pudding.

"So, ah, what do you make of, I mean, you know," Ethan started uncertainly. "what we saw last night?"

Tim looked around before answering. Then he said quietly, "The sphinx?"

Ethan nodded.

Tim continued, "Well I want to know what you asked it. Why's it there?"

"It must be guarding something," Ethan surmised.

"Of course it's guarding something," Tim said. "That's what a sphinx does. I checked the entry in _Fantastic Beasts & Where to Find Them_ before I went to breakfast. The question is what that something is."

"I still want to know what the symbol-rune, Anne called it-on the doors means," Ethan said. "I know I've seen it, but I can't place it, as if I saw it in a dream."

Just then, Anne walked up.

"It's a rune of protection, what we saw," she said quickly. "It's frequently used in amulets, what Hsu was talking about today. But we should probably stop thinking about it. I think we may have given poor Peter a permanent tic."

"What do you mean 'we'?" Tim said. "You're the one who got lost, after all. We were just following you."

"Well, by all means, don't follow me anymore," Anne said curtly. "Of course, I don't recall that I almost got us eaten by a sphinx."

"Considering that our only other choice was standing around the hall waiting for Beadle and Tiverton to walk by," Tim said, "I don't think the sphinx turned out too badly."

"Could you two stop arguing?" Ethan interrupted. "I want to know more about that room. Kenny said we should keep what we saw to ourselves; he didn't say we couldn't discuss it with each other. But let's not fight about it!"

"Do you think Kenny knows something about what we actually saw?" Tim asked.

"I don't see how he could," Anne said.

"I could ask him," Ethan offered.

"Not yet," Tim said. "Let's see what we can find out about the rune and the sphinx first. When we know more, maybe Kenny could help."

"I agree with Tim," Anne said. "Let's keep this to ourselves for now."

Over the next few weeks, the three of them spent what little free time they had poring over dusty tomes on Ancient Runes and learned theses on the habits and history of sphinxes. Ethan and Tim began to feel that their wrong turn had really been an excellent adventure. The more he discovered about the rune, the more certain Ethan became that he'd seen it. He had no luck recalling how or where.

The green leaves of summer had turned red as autumn arrived atop the clove. As the days passed, they began to fade to brown and yellow. So busy was he with classes, homework and wondering about the sphinx that Ethan hardly noticed the changes until the dry leaves were beginning to fall from the tree branches.

By the second week of October, Ethan had gotten used to corresponding by owl post with his parents. Bucky proved a reliable messenger. Ethan wondered sometimes how the owl made it across half the country and back so quickly. One Thursday morning at breakfast, still groggy after the previous night's Astronomy observation, Ethan saw the familiar barn owl swooping down with a letter from home.

Ethan took the letter, gave Bucky's feathers a stroke and fed the owl a bit of sausage.

"Thanks, Buck! Now go get some rest."

The owl hooted once and headed out the window and off to the owl roost. Ethan opened the letter, which seemed a bit heavier than usual. As he opened the flap, he noticed writing on the underside:

_Dear Ethan,_

_DON'T read this letter in the Assembly Hall.  
Share it only with those whom you trust completely. You'll see why._

_Love, Dad and Mom_

He stared at the note for a moment, wondering, then closed the flap and stuffed the envelope into his pack.

"Everything OK at home, Ethan?" Tim asked.

"Oh, yeah," Ethan replied. "I just don't have time to read it all right now. How 'bout you?"

"Sounds like the harvest's all in," Tim answered as he perused a neatly typed letter. "It was Thanksgiving last weekend. I'm amazed that Mom's already gotten used to Evangeline delivering mail; she's still using the computer to write the letters, though."

Ethan's mind kept straying back to the letter all day. He didn't even notice Crockett's usual acid comments on the progress of his _Mimulus_. He managed to keep his thoughts on flying during the Quidditch scrimmage against the Tenskwatawas. Ethan drew the seeker's position and spent the hour trying to catch a glimpse of the Golden Snitch and to keep up with Van Nort, the seeker for the Prophet's house. Indian summer had arrived and Ethan enjoyed the feeling of the warm breeze blowing back his hair, his long robes flapping behind him as he patrolled the field.

Meanwhile, Marcus and Anne performed well as chasers, and Jennifer Appelbaum and Peter took up the bats as beaters. Tim drew the keeper's spot and made several spectacular saves.

Halfway through, Maddie Morrigan and Kyle Stuart relieved Jennifer and Peter, while Melissa Murthin subbed for Anne as a beater. Ethan and Tim stayed in for the whole hour.

Galvez didn't keep a running score during scrimmages and by now he knew he had to work to keep fights from breaking out between the two houses. But that didn't stop the students from calculating the score.

"60-20, us," Anne called as Melissa went in for her at the half. "Keep it up!"

Marcus scored a nice goal, feinting to the left goal and drawing Katrina Powles off before sending the quaffle through the center hoop backhanded.

"Sweet, Gibson!" Kyle yelled.

"Let's go Prophets!" Brocklebank shouted angrily from his beater's spot. "Show them what Quidditch is about!"

Quickly, the game turned around. Malik Ibrahim, who'd taken to the air almost as well as Tim, did some pretty flying up the field and scored through the right hoop before Tim could react. Then Woody Harding and Brocklebank caught Melissa in a crunching double check and stole the quaffle. Brocklebank screened Tim, which allowed Harding to score.

With about ten minutes to go, the score was 70-60 Bradbury. As Harding and Amanda Leskovits passed the quaffle back and forth, Ethan was patrolling above the fray, Van Nort off to one side, near midfield. Suddenly Ethan caught a flash of gold near the ground under the Tenskwatawa hoops. There was much whooping at the other end and he heard Galvez shouting, "Five minutes!"

Without another thought, Ethan sped back down towards the flash of gold, now clearly visible just behind Katrina Powles. Van Nort took a moment to figure out what had happened, and then he tore after Ethan. The snitch fluttered to the left as the two seekers whooshed down upon it. Van Nort bumped into Ethan and both careened too far down. Ethan recovered first and headed back up the field, seeing the snitch dashing ahead of him. The winged ball took a sudden turn up and Ethan managed to follow. Van Nort was not so quick and he sped past before trying to loop back. Ethan was about a foot behind the snitch when two things happened. A roar came from the Bradbury end of the field. Ethan ignored it, seeing only the small golden ball now inches from him. Just then, he heard Brocklebank yell, "This is for you, muggle-lover!"

"Ethan, look out!" Peter and Jennifer called from the sidelines. But instead Ethan reached out with his right hand, somehow balancing himself with the left and grasped the snitch. He never saw the bludger, but at the last moment he heard it hurtling towards his head and instinctively rolled to his right. The iron bludger whizzed past him, grazing his left ear.

Ethan recovered his balance and flew over to Galvez holding the snitch, to the cheers of the Bradburys. As they mobbed him, Galvez congratulated them.

"A well-fought match, all of you. Good broom skills, good scoring, and excellent keeping, Miss Powles and Mr. Van der Meulen! But today I must give my highest accolade to you Mr. Lloyd...for being the first in your class to capture the Golden Snitch. Well done, young man!"

"E-than! E-than! E-than!" his classmates chanted, much to his embarrassment. Kyle, Tim and Marcus picked him up and they all carried him off the field, leaving the Tenskwatawas grumbling in their wake.

Back inside, the Bradbury first-years had an impromptu celebration in the common room. Marcus managed to procure a supply of pumpkin juice, Chocolate Frogs, Doxie Divinity and Fizzing Whizbees. Maddie tuned the Wizarding Wireless in to The Wicked Witches' Greatest Hits in Concert and the party was on.

Ethan found that the roar at the other end of the field had been the Bradburys' reaction to Tim's spectacular save off Harding, keeping the Prophets from tying the score. Nobody on the field but Van Nort and Brocklebank had noticed Ethan closing in on the snitch.

"And then Simon nearly killed you with the bludger," Jennifer remarked. "Galvez didn't even see it! 'Well-fought match," indeed!"

"Well anyway, we've got the best keeper, our chasers and beaters outclass them," Marcus said jubilantly. "And now we've found the best first-year seeker, too."

"Hey, it was probably beginner's luck, guys," Ethan shrugged. "It's not too hard outflying Lew Van Nort, you know."

"And the guy's modest, too," Kyle laughed.

But even as Ethan blushed, he felt gratified by his classmates' praise, more than he had at any time in the six weeks he'd been at Kaaterskill. Somehow his unexpected success at Quidditch-even though it had occurred in a simple first-years' scrimmage-seemed more meaningful than the discovery of his talent for Magical Art.

Only after dinner did Ethan recall the letter from his parents. Most of his housemates were off to the library, but he told Tim he would stay and work in the house. When the others had gone, Ethan slipped upstairs, retrieved the letter from his bag and sat down on the bed. This is what he read:

_Dear Ethan,_

_We hope this letter finds you well. We're happy to hear that your artwork is progressing so well._

_We're glad to hear that young Sturtevant is one of your proctors. We knew his parents well and he comes from a wonderful family._

_You asked what Pete and the others think about letters on parchment. We're sorry to have to tell you that we've charmed your letters to them so that they look just like regular muggle letters. We hope you understand; can't take chances._

_Anyway, we wanted to let you know about something we've just learned ourselves. Apparently the Daily Sentinel will be publishing an "investigative" report on us later this week-rather negative in tone, we expect._

_You know the truth about us and why we disappeared, maybe not in full detail, but the essential story. Your friends don't know and some of them are apt to put a bit too much faith in what the Sentinel prints. You may have to put up with questions, taunts or worse from some of the less perceptive. We're terribly sorry that you should have to worry about such things-we know you've got enough to do as it is-but we thought it only fair you knew in advance._

_There are those at the Sentinel and in the Department of Magic who will find it useful to spread lies about us to the wizarding community at large. You'll understand when you see who is quoted in the article. We can't write more until the article actually appears._

_If you need to talk to some one at school about these matters, Kenny Sturtevant would be a good listener, I'm sure. Professor Bancroft, being the head of your house and the history teacher, would be the best faculty member to discuss this with. He's a good sort. And of course, if need be, you can go to Cyrus Flyte; he knows the whole truth of the matter._

_Take care, son. Always show courage in the face of adversity. _

_Love,_

_Mom and Dad_

Ethan reread the letter, and then stared blankly at the parchment. He wondered what exactly the newspaper would say about his parents and why. What did the Department of Magic have to gain by spreading false stories? And finally, how would it affect him? On this day, of all days, he had really felt that he belonged at Kaaterskill, more than he had at any school he'd attended. Would that suddenly change?

Ethan wasn't sure how long he'd sat there, when Tim walked in and slung his bag down next to his bed.

"Are you OK, Ethan?" he asked. "Catching up on the mail, eh?"

"Oh, hi, Tim. Yeah, finally reading my letter," Ethan answered.

"Is everything all right?" Tim asked again.

Ethan looked from the letter to his housemate and thought about the admonition his parents had added on the envelope, "_Share it only with those whom you trust completely."_ If there was anyone at Kaaterskill that he could trust completely, Ethan thought to himself, it would be Tim.

"Well, I hope so, but...well, you have a look at this," he finally said, shoving the letter into Tim's hand. Tim read through the letter, then took a long look at Ethan.

"Wow, this does sound complicated," Tim said slowly. "You know what your parents really did, and no article in the _Sentinel_ will change that. You can't control what other people think, so you can't let them bother you. I believe you-and your parents-and I think everyone in Bradbury will, too."

"But I've always tried to stay in the background, Tim," Ethan fretted. "Even back in muggle school, I tried not to stand out. And now my name is going to be in every wizarding home in North America. I'm not ready for that."

"Well, I don't blame you for feeling that way," Tim said. "But I have to tell you one thing: after knowing you for six weeks, I think it's pretty obvious that you're going to stand out. I mean, who else had their stuff burglarized on the way to school? Someone thought you stood out before you got here and didn't like it. You're brilliant in Magical Art, who else can say that? And you're the first in our class to catch the Golden Snitch. You're making a name for yourself, Ethan, whether you know it or not."

Ethan blushed. "Well, I'm not so sure I like the idea. But I'm glad you know about the article anyway."

"Marcus and Peter get the _Sentinel_ every morning; I think Anne does, too," Tim recalled. "So let's make sure we get a look as soon as it comes in tomorrow morning. At least you'll know what you're up against. Is it OK I tell them why we're interested?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Ethan said uncertainly. "Right now, though, I think I need to get to sleep."

"Good idea, I'm not far behind," Tim agreed.

So they got their pajamas on. Tim stayed up reading _Magical Drafts and Potions_, but Ethan took off his glasses, set them on his night stand, pulled the curtains and went to sleep. Though his mind was full of confused thoughts, he drifted off fairly quickly.

When he awoke the next morning, he found that Tim had already alerted Marcus and Peter to be on the lookout for an article about the Lloyds in the morning paper. On the way out to breakfast, Tim caught up with Anne and let her know too. By the time the owls flew into the Assembly Hall, the Bradburys were all aware that something unusual was expected in the day's _Sentinel_. Marcus unrolled his copy and turned it over to Ethan right away. He scanned the front page, briefly noting a few headlines-_Muggle Harassment Crackdown Promised-In OPINION, Harry Potter: Savior or Spoiled Brat?-The Latest in Magical Makeovers see page 7-In SPORTS, Finches upset by Slippery Rock_. Then, covering the lower half of the first page he noticed a _Sentinel Exclusive Feature, Part 1: The Mysterious Lloyds-"Missing" 14 Years-Where Have They Been?-Clues to Table Mountain Mystery?_

A photograph of Ethan's father ran to the left of the headline, while his mother was pictured to the right. They both looked very young; Diana smiled confidently, while Griffin gazed absent-mindedly out of his photo. Ethan read the article below quickly.

_The Sentinel has learned that two of the most mysterious characters in modern wizarding history are alive and well and living in Wisconsin. Department of Magic officials confirm that Griffin and Diana Lloyd, who disappeared after the debacle at Table Mountain in 1981, have recently resurfaced in the Badger state._

_Readers no doubt recall the horrific battle between Department Aurors and sympathizers of the now-vanished He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named that occurred on Table Mountain in Newfoundland 14 years ago. The Lloyds, junior Aurors at the time, are believed to have been the only survivors of the incident. As the Lloyds disappeared shortly afterwards, they have never publicly given their account of the battle and speculation has been rife about the cause of the disaster and their role in it. Cyrus Flyte, Headmaster of Kaaterskill Academy which both Lloyds attended, has long maintained that the Lloyds helped prevent You-Know-Who's forces from a major infiltration of North America, though he has never offered proof of this claim. However, equally convincing theories state that the Lloyds unwittingly led their colleagues into an ambush or that in fact they were actually agents of You-Know-Who._

_According to Lothar Barghest, recently-appointed Director of Communications for the Midwest Region of the Department of Magic, the Lloyds first resurfaced a few months back as they prepared to send their son, one Ethan, to Kaaterskill._

"_Actually, I met Griffin Lloyd and his son in Milwaukee in August," Barghest confirmed. "He was unwilling to divulge his current address but intimated that his wife was also well. The Department assumes that the Lloyds reside somewhere in Southeastern Wisconsin."_

_Barghest also stated that the Department is most interested to speak with the Lloyds._

"_The Department would like to officially put to rest the question of what happened at Table Mountain. It's a shame that the Lloyds have not seen fit to cooperate in this matter," he told the Sentinel. "We would also like to discuss with them the source of funds in their Gringotts account, which has multiplied considerably since their involvement at Table Mountain."_

_Asked whether the Department suspects the Lloyds of any illegal activities, Barghest stated he would have no comment on any possible pending investigation._

_It should be noted that the Lloyds disappeared just before the demise of You-Know-Who and have now emerged as rumors of his return have been circulated in the UK. Is this more than a coincidence? The Secretary of Magic's office reiterated yesterday that no credible proof of You-Know-Who's return has been forthcoming. However, we note that the Lloyds' firmest supporter, Cyrus Flyte, recently told the assembled students and faculty of Kaaterskill that he accepts the assertions of Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, and his protégé, teenager Harry Potter, that You-Know-Who is back. Some have suggested that Griffin and Diana Lloyd have more than a passing interest in the return of that dark wizard._

_Next Week: Heroes, Fools or Villains: What You Don't Know about Griffin and Diana Lloyd._

Having finished reading, Ethan sank back in his chair, speechless. When he tried to say something, no words came from his mouth.

He saw Tim shake his head in disgust.

Marcus, usually quick with a quip, could only say, "Man, what a hatchet job!"

Anne, as was her wont, was the first to attempt an explanation.

"Well, it's obvious that someone at the Department-maybe this Barghest guy-put the _Sentinel_ up to this," she said grimly. "They were very careful not to provide any real evidence of anything, but they managed to imply all sorts of dreadful possibilities. Maddie, your mom works in the Department... has she ever said anything about this Barghest person?"

"I don't remember the name, but I heard Mom telling one of her friends that the regional Communications offices were basically set up to promote the Secretary of Magic," Maddie said, adding quickly, "I probably shouldn't have told you that."

"The article's right about one thing," Ethan said, having regained the power of speech. "I met Barghest in Milwaukee back in August. Dad said they'd been at Kaaterskill together. He was polite but very nasty...made lots of little comments about my family tending to get into trouble, seemed to think that being raised with muggles was some kind of crime and the worst part..."

He stopped and closed his eyes as he remembered how he felt when Lothar Barghest held him in his gaze.

"What was the worst part, Ethan?" Tim asked earnestly.

"When he looked at me, I felt as if he was trying to suck my thoughts right out of my brain," Ethan said. "Dad told me later that the Barghest family produced a lot of legilimens-they can do that sort of thing. Oh, and he also told me that he suspected Barghest was on Vol...er, You-Know-Who's side in the war, but there was no proof. Apparently, his family has a lot of influence."

"Whoa, wait a minute," Marcus said. "You mean he worked for You-Know-Who and now he pops up working for the Department of Magic. He really must have connections."

"Hate to tell you, guys, but we've got to get to class," Tim interrupted. "Ethan, buck up now. We're behind you."

"Thanks, Tim," Ethan said as he picked up his book bag. "Thanks to all of you."

But as they left the Assembly Hall, Ethan sensed that he'd become a center of attention. He caught snatches of conversations along with whispers he could not make out.

"That's him, over there in the glasses, with the curly-haired kid and the redheaded girl."

"Do you think it's safe...I mean what if his parents _are_ with You-Know-Who?"

"Why'd the old man let him in anyway?"

"My dad says Flyte and Dumbledore have both gone around the bend..."

As they headed to Charms, Ethan kept imagining people turning away as he passed. No one seemed to want to meet his eyes.

Charms class was a blur to Ethan. He had difficulty performing the simple blue flame charm they were working on. When he set his textbook ablaze accidentally, Professor O'Loughlin quickly extinguished the fire, and then asked in an unusually motherly tone, "Are you quite all right, Mr. Lloyd? This is most unlike you, really!"

Ethan was glad to be done with Charms, but then he remembered that Potions was next. As he headed down the hallway in the dungeon, he heard a familiar voice rise to taunt him.

"Now we know why Lloyd was raised with muggles," Simon Brocklebank sneered to his followers. "No self-respecting wizard would associate with his type."

Brocklebank's followers guffawed and nodded.

"Still ticked that he got the snitch before your little friend did, eh, Brocklebank?" Tim retorted. Van Nort, who Ethan was sure was nobody's "little friend," glared at Tim.

"He probably cursed him, Van der Muggle," snarled Simon. "You'd better watch yourself. You could be next."

Katrina Powles stood next to Brocklebank. She turned to her brother and laughed most unpleasantly.

"Wait until Mom and Dad find out you're hanging around with a Lloyd...he's probably as two-faced as his parents!" she said derisively.

"Shut up, Katrina!" Peter answered her, but he looked away from Ethan. "You wouldn't dare tell them..."

"Oh, no?" she smiled. "Watch me, brother dear."

Just then Renfro opened the door of the classroom. He cast his gaze suspiciously around the crowd milling in the hallway, then ushered them inside.

"Come along in," he said, glowering at them. "And whatever you've been squabbling over, don't even think of bringing your arguments into my classroom! That means you too, Mr. Brocklebank."

For the first time, Ethan actually felt gratitude towards Renfro and it calmed him as he and Tim worked together on a potion to reverse curse-induced fevers. They began by boiling alder bark, adding leaves of agrimony, hops, fennel and wormwood and stirring in ground roots of smallage and succory.

"That looks quite sufficient, gentlemen," Renfro said, examining their potion. "How unusual. There may be hope for you yet, Mr. Lloyd."

When class ended, Ethan made a bee line for the door and hurried away, certain that Brocklebank and company would resume their taunts given a chance. Tim caught up with him in the Main Hallway.

"Hey, Ethan!" Tim called. "Slow down, will ya?"

Ethan stopped and turned, certain by now that the entire school held the same opinion of him that Katrina Powles had expressed.

"Come on, Ethan, you can't run away from this," Tim told him. "Even if everyone else in this school believed every word in that article, we'd stand by you. And you can tell the teachers don't believe it. Even Renfro laid off you today."

"Well that's great!" Ethan exclaimed as they continued towards the Assembly Hall for lunch. "If I can just get all the teachers to feel sorry for me, I'll be just fine!"

"That's not it at all," Tim demurred. "They know the _Sentinel_'s out of line on this. After a while, the students will come around, too...at least the ones who think for themselves, instead of letting Brocklebank do it for them."

After lunch, the Bradburys and Harrisons assembled in Bancroft's classroom for History of Magic. Ethan greeted Edwin Malinowski when he passed him at the door.

"Oh, hi, Ethan," he said timidly. Then he looked around as if to make sure no one else was listening and whispered, "Just so you know, I believe your parents, not that paper."

"Thanks, Ed," Ethan said, not sure whether he should be pleased at the Harrison boy's support or upset at his nervousness about expressing it publicly.

Elegant as ever in his burgundy robe, Bancroft addressed the class.

"I realize that we are scheduled to debate the issue of house elf emancipation this class. However, given current concerns, I've decided to cover more recent history today. But please be prepared with your position papers next time."

"Fourteen years ago this month, the war against the dark and desperate wizard named Voldemort came to an end," he continued, ignoring the involuntary gasps from the class at his use of the name.

At this, Ethan put his head down on the desk. _Just what I need_, he thought. _A lecture that will make everyone think about my evil parents._

"As you all know," Bancroft said, "the Headmaster has reason to believe that the Dark Lord has returned. If this is true, it must ultimately mean that the peace during which you were born and raised has been but a respite and war will resume. While we do not yet know how that war will be fought, we can already see the forces of division working to weaken those most likely to resist. That is why I wish to cover the previous war-or the first phase of the ongoing war, more accurately-so that you may understand a history of which you are very much a part yourselves."

"It all began nearly a quarter of a century ago," he said as he paced the front of the room and then stopped to look over the room. "Many of your parents were sitting where you are now, just beginning at Kaaterskill. Many years had passed since the last great evil wizard-Grindelwald-had been overthrown. Many believed that the wizarding world had advanced so greatly that dark magic would never rise again."

He strode across the classroom again towards a large map of the world on the far wall.

"Then, about 1970 or 1971, rumors began to spread," Bancroft said quietly. "Whispers reached our shores of a nameless terror, of a darkness rising in the East."

He gestured towards the map of Europe.

"No one seemed certain whence this new power came. He declared himself in Britain, but the name he used was not known there.  
Indeed, he seemed to be a man without a past. Some said he'd learned the dark arts in obscure corners of Eastern Europe, others that he had traveled to remote sections of China or Africa."

"From the moment he emerged," Bancroft continued dramatically, "this wizard manifested a ruthless will to dominate. Skilled at evil and unforgivable curses, his very voice was a powerful weapon which he used to convince some and intimidate others. 'Purity' was his watchword; he proclaimed his hatred for muggles and especially for those wizards and witches born to muggles-to whom he applied the derisive label "mudbloods.""

Bancroft used his voice effectively to convey his tale, and the class was hanging on his every word. Ethan had raised his head again and was watching the professor carefully. After a pause, Bancroft continued.

"This man-for though he immersed himself in the dark arts, he started out as human as you or me-called himself Lord Voldemort. I beg you not to wince when I say that, for to combat evil one must be able to name it. He gathered followers-like-minded wizards and witches, those who shared his hatred for muggles and muggle-blooded wizards, those who felt wronged by the wizarding establishment, the rootless and some who simply wanted a powerful leader."

"In Britain, those who spoke out against Voldemort began to turn up dead. As the decade wore on, his following grew and the British Ministry of Magic was on the defensive. And some on this side of the ocean began to heed Voldemort's messages."

"Too many over here-including the Department of Magic's leaders-told themselves that Voldemort was a British, or at worst, a European problem. What had he to do with America?"

"But by the end of the decade," Bancroft said, walking up the aisle between the rows of desks, "Voldemort's following on this side of the Atlantic was growing. And those who admired him found a leader of their own, one who emulated the Dark Lord, joined him for a time in Britain and then returned to America to raise his banner. This wizard called himself Hafgan."

"There are many evil powers in this world and some sleep for centuries unknown to humans. About fifteen years ago, Hafgan learned of such a power hidden in a magical place," Bancroft said, pointing to a spot just off the coast of North America, "Here, beneath Table Mountain on the island of Newfoundland."

Ethan glanced around him. Everyone was looking at Bancroft attentively, as if they expected that a great secret was about to be revealed. After a few seconds, Bancroft continued.

"To this day, we do not know the true nature of Hafgan's discovery," he said. "I can but tell you what is known about the events that followed, and that is less than you-or I-might wish to know."

"Hafgan informed his master of this discovery. Voldemort apparently felt that the harnessing of this dark power to his will would bring the wizarding world to its knees. Together, he and Hafgan developed a plan to awaken and control the being beneath Table Mountain. This must have involved the most powerful magic, done in greatest secrecy. But somehow another became aware of their design, one whose knowledge came to the attention of the Department of Magic."

"And so," the professor observed, "when the Dark Lord's servants arrived at Table Mountain, a group of 20 American and Canadian aurors were on their heels, not really sure what they would find."

The pause that followed was too much for Marcus Gibson, who blurted out breathlessly, "And what happened when they got there?"

"That, Mr. Gibson, is what we would all like to know," Bancroft replied. "From observations made sometime later, it seems likely that the Death Eaters successfully awakened the power of the Mountain, probably as the aurors arrived. For some reason, they were unable to control the monster they'd unleashed. As the Death Eaters and aurors battled, the power of the Mountain broke over them indiscriminately. Only three things are certain: in the end, the monster was forced back to its slumber beneath Table Mountain, but all the Death Eaters and nearly all the aurors were killed. Only two survived the disaster: a young couple named Griffin and Diana Lloyd."

At this nearly all eyes turned to Ethan, as if the students expected him to confirm Bancroft's tale. Though he suddenly wished he could become invisible, something Bancroft said had raised a question in his mind, and he asked, "But, Professor, you said the Death Eaters lost control of the...the creature, whatever it was. How was it stopped?"

"Excellent question, Mr. Lloyd," Bancroft replied. "No one knows for sure, but my guess is that something your parents did stumped the monster. If they hadn't, you wouldn't be sitting here, today."

While Ethan let that thought sink into his mind, Anne Findlay spoke up.

"But what happened to Hafgan? Was he killed?"

"Some hoped so, Miss Findlay," Bancroft said. "But shortly after the incident, it became clear that he'd escaped Table Mountain himself. The months after the battle saw the worst Death Eater attacks; it seemed that Table Mountain made Hafgan more vicious and desperate. It's likely that Voldemort punished him for the failure; in turn, Hafgan drove his followers to ambush aurors and their families."

"But they stopped...the attacks stopped," Edwin Malinowski said. "It's been years since anything like that's happened."

"Yes and your lives have been mercifully free from such fears," Bancroft agreed. "Which is more than some of your older classmates can say. Only a few months later Voldemort killed a young couple named Potter and tried to kill their only son, only to have the curse backfire. What happened that night is even more mysterious than Table Mountain, but Voldemort was not seen for nearly 14 years after that. His followers melted away, or were hunted down and killed or captured; many repented or claimed they'd acted under duress. But Hafgan simply vanished, as completely as Voldemort himself, so it would seem."

"But, excuse me, Professor," Jeremy Holsapple said, raising one gangling arm. After Bancroft acknowledged him, Jeremy continued, "We don't really know You-Know-Who's back, do we? I mean, where's the proof? And if no one's seen Hafgan for 14 years, why does anyone think he's still alive? Haven't you told us that history is based on fact?"

"Absolutely, Mr. Holsapple, absolutely," Bancroft exclaimed. "But what constitutes a fact? In the case of Lord Voldemort, we have the testimony of an eyewitness. Rather tenuous, you might argue, but there are two reasons we should take it seriously: Firstly, the testimony comes from one whose life has been entwined with that of Voldemort from the beginning; secondly, the greatest wizard of our era has vouched for the truthfulness of the witness."

A sandy-haired Harrison girl who Ethan didn't know raised her hand.

"Professor, I know that Dumbledore has done a lot of great things," she said. "But according to the news, he's not as sharp as he used to be."

"Ah, good point, Miss Gerrits," Bancroft said. "Let's talk about the press. As historians, we must consider how reliable the newspapers are as sources. Particularly today, if any of you have read the _Sentinel_. Now, how can I tell whether to trust what I read in the papers? Miss Hotaling?"

"Well, the newspaper isn't supposed to take sides," Cynthia Hotaling answered. "It should just report what happened. But..."

"Yes," Bancroft encouraged her. "But what?"

"Well," Cynthia continued. "In my hometown, the paper always favors one party against the other. My dad says you don't want to get on the paper's bad side."

"Does he indeed?" Bancroft beamed. "Wise man, your father. Why do you think a newspaper might favor one party or one side of an issue?"

Red-haired Bram Rozema raised his hand.

"Well, I suppose the newspaper might see whether there was something in it for them," he offered.

"So you think a newspaper could be bribed?" Bancroft asked.

"Sure, the reporters are only human," Rozema asserted.

"Usually true," Bancroft agreed with a sly grin, and Ethan wondered exactly what he meant. "And therefore susceptible to various kinds of persuasion. Now in this case, who might be interested in influencing the news? And what could they offer in return for the right...slant on the Voldemort story?"

"Well, maybe You-Know-Who doesn't want everyone to know he's back," Anne theorized. "And he could threaten the newspapers if they said he was."

"That's one possibility," Bancroft said. "Of course if Voldemort cursed the editors that might be the best proof he's back! Anyone else have a theory?"

Ethan raised his hand.

"The British Ministry might not want to admit it," he said. "After all, they're supposed to know that sort of stuff. And if some teenager found out before them, it wouldn't look good."

"And what might a newspaper get in return for downplaying the teenager's reliability?" Bancroft queried.

"Well, they could send them some galleons," Maddie Morrigan suggested. "But papers want to have good sources for stories. And the government can be a great source, if it wants to be."

"Excellent thinking, Miss Morrigan," Bancroft said. "Now, time's up for today. Next time, it's back to house elf emancipation, but please think about today's discussion when you read what passes for history in the newspapers these days. Good day, now!"

The students filed out into the hall. Bancroft put his hand on Ethan's shoulder as he passed.

"Mr. Lloyd, would you stop by my office after your last class today? Say about 5:15? I'd like a word with you. It won't take long...I won't keep you from dinner!"

"Sure, I'll see you then," Ethan agreed, then he joined the others hurrying off to the greenhouses.

When Music class ended a few hours later, Ethan headed to Professor Bancroft's office on the 2nd floor next to the classroom. The door was open, but Ethan knocked anyway. Bancroft sprang up from his desk and ushered Ethan to a chair opposite his own.

"Come in, come in, Mr. Lloyd," he exclaimed, closing the door behind them. "Thank you so much for stopping by."

Ethan sat and glanced around the office as Bancroft returned to his seat, an ornate armchair with carved mountain lions on the arms. There were a number of maps on the walls, some of which appeared to have small dots of light moving about them. A globe rotated slowly on a table by the window. Most of the wall space was taken up by bookshelves. Ethan's eyes fell on the one painting in the room, a portrait of a grey-haired wizard seated in a chair much like Bancroft's own. Wearing odd eyeglasses shaped like crescent moons, the wizard was reading a thick leather-bound volume with runes on the spine. Ethan saw the old wizard turn away from his book briefly and look out into the room. Ethan started as the intense green eyes of the old man met his for just a moment.

Ethan turned to Bancroft, who'd begun to speak.

"I want to apologize, Mr. Lloyd, if my topic this afternoon made your day more difficult. I know the contents of the morning paper must have been a shock to you. But under the circumstances, I felt it was important to give the students-all of you-some tools to analyze the _Sentinel_'s drivel."

"That's OK, Professor," Ethan replied. "Your class wasn't so bad. Actually, all the teachers seemed to be really...well, nice to me today."

"Glad to hear that," Bancroft said. Then he opened a colorful tin on the desk and pushed it toward Ethan. "Have some fudge-goat's milk, fearfully good, my niece sent it up."

Ethan took a square and popped it into his mouth. Bancroft continued.

"I've been meaning to check in with you anyway, you know, just to see how you're getting on. I do that with all the first years in the house eventually. You are certainly doing fine work in history and I understand that Charms and Defense against the Dark Arts are strong points as well. How do you feel things are going?"

Ethan thought for a moment. Then he said truthfully, "Well, Professor, I really wondered how I'd do. I mean, I didn't even know this world existed before last summer. But now I know this is where I belong; I don't know how, I just _know_. Even after today."

"You don't know how good that makes me feel, Mr. Lloyd," Bancroft said, passing over the tin of fudge again. "The headmaster and I are always concerned that the students who've grown up in the muggle world adjust well-of course, you're a rather special case. I should tell you that your parents-especially your father-had a great influence on me when I was in school."

Ethan hastily swallowed his fudge and gave the history professor a surprised look.

"Were you in school with them?" he asked. "What were they like back then?"

"They were the Bradbury proctors my first year here," Bancroft said, with a nostalgic sigh. "I daresay I might not have made it through without Griffin's encouragement. I wasn't the most studious youngster and I'm afraid I had a tendency to get into scrapes. Your dad was able to get me out of most of them at first-and later on I managed to avoid them because I couldn't bear to disappoint him."

"Did you keep in touch with them after they left school?" Ethan asked. "Did they talk to you about...you know..."

"Table Mountain?" Bancroft finished Ethan's thought. "Oh, no! I dreamed of following them to auror training, but I was four years behind them. I was finishing up here when they went to Newfoundland. Years later, after I started teaching, I learned that they'd been here after the battle, but that was a secret known only to the Headmaster and his closest aides. As a student-even a 7th-year-I didn't qualify. As far as I knew, they were dead. And of course by that fall, the war was over, and I gave up the idea of being an auror."

Bancroft remained silent. Ethan thought he looked a bit downcast, but he had more questions now.

"So how did you become a teacher, then?"

"Well, it took me a while, but eventually I realized how important it was to properly study our history. I assume Professor Hsu has mentioned that evil wizards have arisen and challenged the good again and again, down the centuries."

Ethan nodded.

"Well, I know Professor Hsu feels these cycles are inevitable, deeply embedded in the nature of our world. But historians feel that humans have some control over their destiny. I believe that one reason for the cycles is that we spend so little time studying how and why the dark wizards arise. After Voldemort's fall, I felt the best thing I could do was to do history-in the hope we could avoid repeating the mistakes of the past. And now, I'm afraid we're about to find whether we _have_ learned anything at all in the last 14 years."

One more question had occurred to Ethan, though he wasn't sure his professor would have the answer.

"I was wondering, Professor Bancroft," he asked. "You said my parents came here after Table Mountain. Do you know whether they left anything important here?"

Bancroft looked at Ethan sharply, and then said, "Whatever makes you ask that, Mr. Lloyd? As I told you, I was still a student at the time, I never even knew of their presence until many years later."

"But did anyone ever tell you..."

"I'm afraid I can't tell you anything more about it, my boy. Now, look at the time!" Bancroft exclaimed, pointing at the clock. "You'll be late for dinner. Remember, if you have any trouble, any at all, you can come to me...but don't forget that you've got a rather good proctor in Mr. Sturtevant. Off you go, then."

With that, Bancroft snapped the lid back on the candy tin, stood up and threw a red plaid cape over his burgundy robe. Ethan got up too; as he left the room, he thought he saw the old wizard in the portrait cast another curious glance his way.

As he walked back to Bradbury Tower, Ethan pondered Bancroft's words and all the ups and downs of a most unusual day. He just had time to drop his bag next to his bed, as the Bradbury first-years were about to head down to dinner.

"Oh, there you are Ethan," Tim greeted him. "We were about to eat without you. Everything all right?"

"Yeah, I'm OK, just had to talk to Bancroft after class," Ethan replied,

"I'm so glad it's Friday," Marcus sighed. "I couldn't write any essays tonight if my life depended on it."

"I'm way too hungry to even think about class," Tim said. "Let's get going."

On the way in to dinner, Ethan didn't even notice that he was still the focus of looks and whispered comments. He was still considering the meaning of what Bancroft had said in class and later-and what he hadn't said.

Ethan distractedly ate his way through the Friday dinner: fried haddock, a small helping of succotash, and a pile of _poutine (_french fries with gravy and cheese curds, a delicacy to which Tim had introduced him). As he added a spoonful of whipped cream to his coconut cream pie, Kenny Sturtevant sat down across from him.

"So how are you holding up, Ethan?" the proctor asked with a smile that couldn't mask the concern in his voice.

"I'm all right, really," Ethan told him. "There are some advantages to having half the school think I'm going to curse them if they look at me!"

Kenny chuckled, but looked at Ethan hard, as if he thought the joke was forced. Ethan thought for a moment, then leaned over and told Kenny about his meeting with Bancroft. Tim and Anne, who were sitting next to them, listened in with interest.

"You know what I think?" Ethan concluded. "I think my parents brought something back with them from Table Mountain before they went to Madison."

Tim and Anne looked at Ethan, then at each other. Ethan guessed that they were thinking about the sphinx, as he was.

"Well, Bancroft doesn't seem to know," Kenny offered. They hadn't yet told the proctor about the adventure that had kept them out past curfew. "It's a bit of a leap of faith to guess that."

"But it was the way Bancroft reacted when I asked," Ethan insisted. "First he repeated that he hadn't seen them when they came back, then cut off the conversation before I could ask if he'd learned more since."

"So do you think," Tim whispered, "that whatever they brought back, it was the reason they had to go into hiding?"

"Exactly," Ethan agreed. "And I bet that's why they haven't ever come forward to tell their side of the story."

"Wow!" Anne said. "If that's true, I wonder whether that article was meant to..."

"Flush them out?" Kenny suggested. "An interesting idea. A little proof would help. Of course, if you're right, then I _should_ advise you that this is not the sort of thing for first-year students to get mixed up with."

"But _are_ you telling us that?" Anne asked.

"Not exactly," Kenny said archly. "But be careful! I've got to go, but do let me know if you want to discuss this further."

After Kenny left, the three first-years looked at each other and quickly agreed to wait for further discussion.

"Let's think about it for awhile," Ethan suggested.

"And see how it fits with runes and sphinxes," Anne added.

Tim nodded in agreement. As Halloween approached, they spent as much time as possible trying to fit the pieces of the puzzle together.


	11. The Pumpkin Hunt

Chapter Eleven

The Pumpkin Hunt

Over the next week, Ethan adjusted to his new notoriety. Although he remained the subject of much finger-pointing, whispering and dark speculation, he learned to ignore most of those who took part. Only Brocklebank and his circle openly taunted Ethan. The support of his housemates gave him strength. Several upper-year students Ethan hadn't even known before made a point of letting him know they didn't believe the _Sentinel_'s rumors. It helped that Edwin and some other Harrisons had begun to let their favorable opinions of Ethan be known more openly.

Classes gradually returned to normal for Ethan as well, for better and for worse. In Charms, O'Loughlin taught them to reveal invisible ink using the _aparecium_ charm. She had the students working in pairs; each wrote a message in invisible ink and their partner cast the charm to make the writing appear.

"Remember, the motion is that of a large 'A'," O'Loughlin barked as everyone tried to reveal their partner's message.

Ethan mastered it before anyone else, waving his wand at the bit of scroll Marcus had used for his message and pronouncing "_Aparecium!_"

Instantly, Marcus' handwriting emerged on the scroll. Ethan read it, and then scowled at Marcus in mock annoyance. Tim leaned over and read aloud: "'_This writing can only be revealed by a seriously evil wizard!_' Uh-oh, better keep your eyes on Lloyd; he'll curse you as soon as he'll say hello!"

O'Loughlin simply said, "Well done, Mr. Lloyd! I trust you all saw that nice fluid motion Mr. Lloyd employed and heard his enunciation. Come on now, let's get to work! We'll start levitation by the end of the week if you can master this today."

And by the end of class, everyone _had_ managed to use _aparecium_ correctly.

"Excellent!" Anne exclaimed on the way out of the classroom. "I can't wait to start on levitation. That could be _so_ useful."

The next morning, owls poured in through the upper windows as usual. Many deposited copies of the _Daily Sentinel_ before their owners before swooping away.

Marcus unrolled his copy and scanned the front page. After a moment, he passed the newspaper to Ethan, who was just finishing his oatmeal.

"Here you go, Ethan!" Marcus said. "Looks like the next phase of the smear campaign's in today."

There on the front page were his parents again, this time under the headline, _Heroes, Fools or Villains? What You Don't Know about Griffin and Diana Lloyd._

Ethan eagerly read the article, but despite the title he saw little in the way of new rumor or accusation. He was interested to see some alleged information about his parents' families. For example, the article stated,

_Diana Bones, of course, is descended from a Hudson Valley family well-known for muggle-baiting activities 200 years ago._

A bit further on, he read,

_Griffin Lloyd's ancestor, Llewellyn L. Lloyd was an eccentric instructor at Kaaterskill Academy of Magic at the beginning of the 20th century._

Ethan was somewhat alarmed, however, by the paper's assertion that

_Sources tell The Sentinel that Griffin Lloyd has sunken to such a low level that he now works as a librarian in a muggle university_.

"How could they have found out that dad's a librarian?" he wondered aloud.

"Well, you haven't exactly kept it a secret," Anne reminded him. "Not that any of us here would think it worth spreading around, but someone could have heard you talking about them."

Ethan thought about that for a moment and wondered whether he'd accidentally been a source for his parents' enemies. But then he reached the main point of the article, further speculation on the events at Table Mountain.

_Many have wondered how two inexperienced aurors were assigned to the team sent to Table Mountain. The Sentinel has learned that the Lloyds begged their supervisor to participate in the mission, despite his misgivings._

_Why were the Lloyds so eager to take this risky assignment? Was youthful bravado the reason, or could there have been a more sinister motive?_

_Later investigations at Table Mountain indicate that powerful magic was unleashed there by unknown persons. The nature of the magic involved remains uncertain, but the survival of the Lloyds suggests that they could well have had a hand in the release of a fatal magical power. _

_It has also been suggested that the Lloyds' may yet possess one or more magical objects used at Table Mountain. Perhaps they fled the Wizarding World to avoid having to turn these items over to the Department of Magic for investigation and safekeeping, as required by law._

"No more facts, just more suggestions and suspicions," Ethan sighed, handing the paper back to Marcus. "I don't know that I should have expected anything else."

On the way in to Potions class, Ethan listened in spite of himself as Brocklebank talked about the article with some of his circle.

"How much of that do you think is true?" Lew Van Nort asked.

"Well who really knows?" Simon answered. "But one thing I'll tell you...Uncle Lothar really knew how to turn the screws on Lloyd's parents."

Back in the common room later that evening, Ethan was sitting with Tim, Anne and Kenny.

"Uncle Lothar, he said!" Ethan said.

"So Brocklebank's related to Barghest, the little weasel!" Tim exclaimed. "That could explain quite a bit."

"I'm starting to think so," Ethan agreed. "And I think reading the half-truths in the articles give some big clues to what he's up to."

"Care to enlighten us?" the proctor prodded.

"I know I can trust you three to keep this to yourselves, but I'd rather not say out in the open."

"Well, why don't you come into the proctors' lounge?" Kenny suggested. "No one will hear you in there."

The four of them adjourned to the lounge and sat down around the table.

"I think the paper is right about one thing. Like I said before, I think Mom and Dad _did_ bring something important from Table Mountain. But I still don't think they took it with them to Madison," Ethan resumed.

"Well, what happened to this thing?" Anne asked. "The Department of Magic doesn't seem to have it."

"No, they don't," Tim said. "Hold on though, Ethan, didn't Bancroft tell you that your parents stopped here to see Flyte sometime after the battle?"

"Exactly! And what safer place could there be for something that's...well, dangerously magical? So now, there's something here at school that You-Know-Who wants," Ethan said urgently. "Something that my parents brought here fourteen years ago so that _he_ couldn't get it. And now someone--maybe Hafgan--is trying to find it for You-Know Who again."

"That _would_ explain a lot," Anne said. "And it's just too convenient that the papers have everyone believing that You-Know-Who's return is just the crazy raving of a lunatic boy."

"If Flyte says V-V-Voldemort's back, that's good enough for me," Kenny said. "But you're right. It's hard to get people worked up about a plot to get him a great weapon when they think he's either dead or powerless."

"But the question is," Anne added, "do they--whoever they are--really know that it's here?"

"I don't know, but..." Ethan began, then stopped and looked at Kenny. He decided to plunge ahead. "We know that something is being guarded very well here in the school."

And he proceeded to tell Kenny all about their discovery of the sphinx in the room with the lightning bolt rune.

Kenny listened intently to Ethan's story, resting his head on his hands and rocking slightly. When Ethan had finished, the older boy said, "Well, that _is_ news, no doubt about that. Quite a coincidence, you of all people getting lost down that particular corridor."

"Well, we didn't go looking for it," Anne said. "I mean none of us would have been there if Ethan hadn't needed to post his letter late."

"I'll grant you that," Kenny agreed. "But in my experience very little that happens in this building is really a coincidence."

"Well, coincidence or not," Ethan added, "We know that there's something that needs to be guarded by that sphinx. And we know, or can guess, that my parents left something here to keep it away from You-Know-Who. And suddenly there's a lot of interest in my parents and Table Mountain and You-Know-Who's back. Put two and two together...all we need to know is what exactly it is."

"OK, let's assume you're right. Whoever's trying to get this weapon, whatever it is, has to be here at school," Tim speculated. "It can't be a stranger or visitor; they'd stick out like a sore thumb."

"Well, we know Barghest is involved somehow," Anne said. "And now we know his nephew is a student."

"But surely it can't be Brocklebank!" Tim objected. "He may be pureblood back fifty generations, and evil to boot, but he's also a complete idiot!"

"No, it's no first-year, you can rest assured," Kenny asserted. "I doubt very much if it's any student, though there might be some upper-form students who'd be capable if they're so inclined. But I think you're looking for an adult."

"But that means a teacher, or someone on the staff," Tim said doubtfully. "Surely none of them are on You-Know-Who's side."

"Oh, I don't know," Ethan said, half-seriously. "Anyone who makes life as hard as Crockett does could be in league with the devil."

"Come off it, Ethan," Anne said dismissively. "Just because you're having trouble with a class doesn't mean the professor's a Death Eater. I mean, Bancroft's class is _killing_ me, but you won't see me blaming You-Know-Who."

"If you want to find out who's a likely suspect," Kenny said. "You need to look at all the possibilities objectively. And don't forget to consider that someone could be controlled by an Imperius Curse."

"Well, Ang Hsu knows more about the Dark Arts than anyone here," Anne offered. "It's his job, of course, but there are times he does it so well he scares me. I'll bet he could do a fine Imperius Curse."

"Yeah, but the reason he's so good at that stuff," Ethan countered, "is he's been fighting Death Eaters --and worse-- for 90 years. I mean, he was in the fight against Grindelwald and someone said that dark wizards killed his brother back in China. I don't think he's got a motive to help You-Know-Who."

"What about Tiverton?" Tim asked. The others said nothing for a moment, but looked thoughtful.

"You might have something, Tim," Anne offered. "Didn't you say that it was his trip to Europe that made him so nervous and strange, Kenny?"

"Well, yeah, that's what I've heard," the proctor said. "Of course that was the year before I started, so I've only seen him this way. But the older students said he went to do some fieldwork in Romania--or was it Bulgaria? I think the story was that he went with a teacher from Hogwarts, some sort of joint research project."

"What if they ran into You-Know-Who?" Anne continued breathlessly. "He could have used Imperius or worse on Tiverton. Or maybe just corrupted him and turned him to the dark side."

"There's only one problem with that theory, Anne," Ethan interjected. "Six years ago, Voldemort had no body; according to everything I've read. So he couldn't have been using curses on anyone."

"Still, I think we should find out more about Professor Tiverton," Tim said.

"Well, be careful," Kenny admonished them. "Don't get yourselves in trouble nosing about."

The others promised they'd be cautious, but all four went to bed imagining what could be beyond the sphinx--and who might wish to obtain it for Voldemort.

Soon, nearly everyone stopped worrying about classes, whether the Lloyds were sinister turncoats and even Quidditch practice. The cause, Ethan learned, was the approach of the annual Pumpkin Hunt. At the Wednesday school assembly, Flyte announced the ground rules and explained the contest for the benefit of the new students.

"As our more mature students will remember," the headmaster began, "classes will be suspended Monday in recognition of Halloween."

Flyte paused as the student body cheered raucously. He held up his hand for silence, and then continued, "Instead, the faculty and staff have again arranged for an intramural Pumpkin Hunt. I am informed by Professor Bancroft that this will be the one-hundred-twenty-fifth Kaaterskill Pumpkin Hunt."

Sitting at the Bradbury table, Tim nudged Ethan and whispered, "Pumpkin Hunt? Easter egg hunts I can understand, but how hard can it be to find pumpkins?"

Ethan shrugged and said, "I don't know, but I'm sure the teachers could make it as hard as they want."

"Our new students may not know that the Hunt holds such an honorable place in the annals of the school," Flyte said. "I am sure that your proctors will do their part to educate you. But now, some details: there will 200 pumpkins hidden throughout the school building and grounds. Thanks to the efforts of Mr. Standish, we have a bumper crop this year."

Flyte nodded to the groundskeeper standing behind the faculty table, a stocky, gray-haired man with a face that Ethan thought remarkably like gnomes he'd seen in paintings. Ethan had rarely seen Standish before and never inside the school buildings.

"Now each of these exemplary _cucurbitae_ will be charmed by our esteemed faculty. The charms employed may change the appearance of the pumpkin or give it other qualities that will make finding and collecting it a worthy challenge. As always, none of the charms will render the pumpkins dangerous to the contestants," Flyte assured them.

"Beginning at 10:00 Halloween morning, the four houses will begin the search for pumpkins," he explained. "Students may use any charms they feel could help reveal the location or allow the capture of a pumpkin, but may not use any charms, spells or hexes on their competitors. One point will be awarded for each pumpkin collected and brought to the check-in station. Also, the house that collects the most pumpkins will be awarded 75 additional points."

"The contest will end at 4:00 p.m.," Flyte concluded. "Professor Tiverton will keep the official score with the assistance of Professors Skryme and Mickelson. I will announce the results during the Halloween feast, which will begin at 6:00 sharp."

After dinner that evening, each house held a meeting to discuss the Hunt. For the first time since his arrival at school, all the Bradburys--three score and ten--crowded into the common room at the same time. The first-years sat on the floor, along with most everyone below fifth year. The senior proctors, Melinda Dewin (the older sister of Danny, the Bradbury keeper) and Cam Trumbull, led the meeting.

"Now, I don't need to tell most of you that Bradbury needs a good showing in the Hunt this year," Melinda said. "It's been five years since the house took first. Last year we came in dead last. I know we can do better this time around."

"Melinda's right," Cam agreed. He was a tall, studious looking boy with short brown hair, sideburns and glasses. "For one thing, the new first years have shown a lot of promise in charms and that's really the key to grabbing the pumpkins. Of course, the older students have more charms experience, so we'll be teaming the first-years with two proctors, Kenny Sturtevant and Eileen Peltier."

"Now remember the rules," Melinda admonished them. "As the old man said, no spells of any kind are to be used _on_ members of the other houses!"

"Which is not to say that you can't do your best to hinder them," Cam added. "Just make sure any spells you use aren't aimed _at_ them. If you can lock a door and slow them down, by all means do it...but not at the cost of missing a pumpkin yourself!"

"In my experience, most of the pumpkins will have simply been transfigured, but some will be able to move on their own," he continued. "So the most important charms are those that counter transfiguration and stop movement. But remember, don't try to stupefy them!"

"That's right!" Melinda concurred. "First of all, you can't stupefy something without a brain of its own. Second, you might hit someone with it. But most of all, you don't want to see what happens to a pumpkin that's been hit with that spell. There was a Tituba who tried that my first year and it took several days to get all of the pumpkin goo off him."

The students thought of little else over the four days that remained until Halloween. Most of the teachers seemed resigned to accomplishing little in class on Thursday and Friday.

Crockett grumbled, "It will be good when this foolishness has passed. Pumpkins, indeed! Hardly even a useful plant!"

But O'Loughlin had promised the Bradburys and Titubas would get to start practicing levitation that Friday and she was as good as her word. As the students filed in--Titubas to the left, Bradburys to the right--they saw that a large white feather rested on each desk.

"Now, it's time to work on one of the most basic charms in the wizard's repertoire," she announced. "Levitation can be a most useful tool once mastered. We'll begin with something small, but the same charm may be used with all sorts of objects."

First, Professor O'Loughlin demonstrated the proper wand movement for the levitation charm--a swishing motion in the form of an "L" then a quick flick at the object to be moved.

"Now it's important that you combine the incantation with the wand action, like so," she continued, aiming at a vase on her desk. "_Wingardium Leviosa_!"

Swish, flick went O'Loughlin's wand as she said the words. The vase rose from the desk slowly. O'Loughlin kept her wand pointed at the vase, which rose as she gradually moved the wand up. Then she slowly lowered the wand, bringing the vase back down safely to the desk top.

"Now remember, it's Win-GAR-di-um Lev-i-O-sa," the teacher reiterated. "Give it a try now."

Everyone picked up their wands and attempted to raise their feathers, with very little success. O'Loughlin walked about, correcting bad wand form in several cases, and pronouncing the spell correctly again and again.

When she reached Ethan's side of the room, she immediately stopped Anne, whose swish was evidently not swishy enough and who was practically shouting something that sounded like "Wingardriam_ Levyosaw!"_

"Do stop a moment, Miss Findlay!" O'Loughlin ordered. "A bit more flourish with the wand, please. And say it with me, it's Win-GAR-di-um Lev-i-O-sa! It's a pity you didn't learn your Latin early!"

Anne flushed with embarrassment. O'Loughlin turned to continue down the line of Bradburys, only to find herself face to face with Ethan's feather, floating perfectly above his desk. She looked from the feather to Ethan, allowing herself a small smile, then called out.

"Now see here, Mr. Lloyd has got it! That will be five points to Bradbury. I'm sure the rest of you _can_ do it too. I want to see more feathers in the air! Swish, flick, Win-GAR-di-um Lev-i-O-sa!"

Ethan beamed happily, and then lowered his wand slowly as O'Loughlin had and brought the feather back down. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Anne glaring at him.

By the end of the hour several other students had managed to float their feathers. O'Loughlin had Ethan move on to somewhat heavier objects such as textbooks and candlesticks.

On the way out, Anne brushed by Ethan and Tim and muttered "Oh, sorry, Mr. Always Perfect Charm Lloyd. Or should I say it in Latin?"

"Anne, what's the matter?" Ethan asked, but she was already down the hallway.

"What got into her?" Tim wondered.

"I guess she's upset that O'Loughlin corrected her and then made a big deal that I had my feather floating," Ethan replied.

"Well, I can't see how that's your fault," Tim declared. "And besides, no one else was faster than you, either."

"So are the rest of you mad at me, too?" Ethan asked.

"Nope, not me anyway," Tim answered.

"Nor me!" Marcus chimed in from behind them. He'd obviously picked up what they were discussing. "Anne'll get over it. From what she says, her brothers were always top students here and she wants to keep up with them. You heard her; she's been talking about that charm all week."

The remaining classes flew by that Friday. The first-years spent several hours over the weekend being coached by Kenny and Eileen for the Pumpkin Hunt.

Sunday afternoon, rainy and cool, found them lounging in the common room. Tim was pretending to do homework, but no one could really concentrate on school work. Marcus had gotten the latest installment of his favorite comic book, _The Squibs Next Door_; he was chortling to himself, stretched out in an overstuffed armchair.

Peter was idly practicing levitating a pair of Chocolate Frogs at one table, and Kyle was flipping through _North American Quidditch Annual 1995_.

Maddie Morrigan had prevailed upon Ethan to play Wizard Chess. He agreed, although he knew Maddie was the best player in the class. Despite his best efforts, Ethan was watching his white pieces being knocked into small bits by Maddie's black ones. His mind wasn't really in the game, as one of his knights pointed out just before having its mount cut out from under it by Maddie's king-side bishop.

Anne was sitting in an armchair in front of the fire, as far away as possible from her classmates. She'd been avoiding them, especially Ethan, all weekend. Even when they'd all met as a group to prepare for the Hunt, Anne had stayed aloof. She seemed withdrawn, not at all the outgoing, self-assured girl Ethan had come to know since their first meeting on the wharf in Hoboken.

"Now you've done it!" Ethan's king muttered with disgust. Indeed, moments later, Maddie called out, "Checkmate!"

Ethan decided to walk up to the owl roost to send a letter back to his parents. He'd assured them that he was getting on fine despite the _Sentinel_ articles. He wanted to ask them about Table Mountain and its aftermath, but he decided they wouldn't trust the answers he wanted to Owl Post.

Out the door of the common room he went, down the Disconcerting Stair, then down to the second floor, which he crossed to get to the north side of the school. Ethan saw just a few students wandering the halls; it seemed most were keeping to their dorms. The faculty, Ethan supposed, were busy somewhere transfiguring pumpkins for the hunt.

He soon found himself entering the spiral stair that led to the owl roost. He imagined that one of the gargoyles winked at him on the way up--at least he supposed it was imagination. Before long he'd reached the roost and Bucky had flown down to perch on his shoulder.

"Ready for a trip, Buck?" Ethan asked as he stroked the bird's soft feathers. "Another one for Mom and Dad."

Bucky hooted once and headed up towards the window. Ethan watched him fly off, and then turned to make his way back down from the tower. As he passed the second landing on the way down, he heard voices--one somewhat agitated--in the nearby hallway.

He thought both voices sounded familiar, but couldn't immediately place them. He stopped just below the landing to listen and realized that the excited voice belonged to Professor Tiverton.

"So have you figured out how to get past that b-beast?" Tiverton asked. Ethan could visualize the facial tic that accompanied the occasional stutter that plagued the Transfiguration teacher when he was agitated.

"Why would you be asking me, Terence?" the other voice replied. "I'm no expert at riddles, you know!"

"No, of course not," Tiverton replied blandly. "Still, l-l-let me kn-know if you have any luck, eh, Roscoe...if you know what's good for you."

Ethan realized that Tiverton was speaking to Professor Skryme.

"Are you threatening me?" the artist asked in a trembling voice.

"Whatever would make you think that, Professor?" Tiverton asked in reply. "B-but by all means go to the Headmaster and d-discuss it with him, if you wish!"

"I'll be on my way now, if you don't mind!" Skryme muttered, and he headed down the side corridor.

"See you at the j-judging, Roscoe!" Tiverton called after him.

Ethan quickly made his way down to the next landing and slipped into the main hallway before Tiverton came down the stairs.

Ethan took no chances. He didn't look back as he hurried directly back to the Bradbury common room. As the Dutchman swung open, Ethan made a beeline for the table at which Tim was still working.

"I think you're right!" Ethan whispered breathlessly.

"Right about what, Ethan?" Tim asked, looking bewildered. "What's up? You look like you've been running from a vampire!"

Ethan caught his breath and thought better of telling Tim in the midst of the common room.

"Come up to the room," he said quietly. "I can't talk here."

"OK, if you say so," Tim agreed, still confused.

The two of them climbed the stairs to the first-year dorm. Ethan thought he saw Anne flash the two of them a quizzical look as they went up, but she quickly looked back at the magazine she was reading.

Ethan sat down on his bed and Tim stood looking at him curiously.

"OK, what is it, Ethan?"

"Tiverton!" he blurted out. "You know, you wondered if he might be the one trying to steal...whatever it is."

"Yeah, I remember," Tim replied.

Ethan quickly told his story.

"And Professor Skryme told him he wasn't good at _riddles_," he concluded. "That was the clincher...Tiverton obviously knows there's a sphinx..."

"Well, don't you think the whole faculty would know that?" Tim asked calmly.

"..and he wants to _get past_ it but he doesn't know the answer to the riddle," Ethan continued, ignoring his friend's comment. "And he was threatening poor Professor Skryme."

"But how could Tiverton go around bullying the other teachers like that?" Tim wondered. "They'd suspect him immediately and either get rid of him or change the way they're protecting...the whatchamacallit."

"Well, maybe he's not bullying all of them," Ethan suggested. "Skryme's new; maybe Tiverton has him too frightened to go to Flyte. Maybe he said he'll change him into a newt or something..."

"Are you two still talking about that sphinx?" a voice came from the other side of the room.

Ethan and Tim started, and then relaxed a bit when they saw who was speaking.

"Hi Peter, didn't see you there!" Ethan said. "Yeah, actually we are."

"So you think you know why it's there, eh?" Peter asked curiously.

"Well, maybe," Ethan continued. "Hold on, why are you interested? I thought you never wanted to hear about it again."

"Well...I don't think I want to _see_ it, that's true," Peter said. "But I guess it _is_ the most interesting thing I've seen around school."

"It sure beats the time a steer managed to wander into my school back home when I was in 3rd grade," Tim laughed.

Peter and Ethan gave Tim odd looks. Ethan tried to imagine a steer roaming the halls of Marquette Elementary School.

"Bit of a mess, that's all," Tim shrugged.

Peter giggled again, and Ethan explained his theory about the sphinx.

"Well, if you need any help, let me know," Peter offered. "So long as it doesn't involve _visiting_ the sphinx again."

"Thanks, Peter," Ethan said.

The rest of Sunday passed uneventfully. Halloween morning dawned clear and warm, the warmth of the last bit of Indian summer, a wistful interlude before the onslaught of winter.

Ethan made his way down to breakfast with the rest of the Bradburys. Just before nine, everyone made their way out through the entry hall and assembled on the circle of lawn before the main doors.

Kenny Sturtevant and Eileen Peltier marshaled the ten Bradbury first-years together. As Ethan looked over the crowd, he saw that each house had divided itself into a number of teams. He noticed that the Tenskwatawas were gathered around a banner that proclaimed them "Defending Champions" in letters that glowed in emerald and yellow.

A stage had appeared to the left of the main entry, covered in a material that looked like lurid orange marble. Atop the stage were four large stalls in the house colors. The Bradbury mountain lion, Harrison wolf, Tenskwatawa lizard and the otter of Tituba were emblazoned on banners floated above the stage on the autumn breeze.

"Who can tell me the charm to reverse a transfigured pumpkin?" Kenny asked the first-years as they waited for the hunt to begin.

"_Restitue Cucurbita_?" Ethan volunteered quickly.

"That's right, Lloyd," the proctor replied. "Now that will take care of most of the pumpkins, but there may be some that need a more advanced spell. Leave those to Eileen or me. Look sharp, it looks like we're ready to start."

Cyrus Flyte had mounted the stage, and Professors Tiverton, Skryme and Mickelson stood behind him.

"Good morning, all!" Flyte said in greeting. "And welcome to the Pumpkin Hunt! It looks to be a fine day for hunting pumpkins. Remember, you must return pumpkins to your house's stall here on the stage to receive credit for your captures. Professor Tiverton will keep the official score, as he has done so ably for the past few years."

At this Ethan nudged Tim and muttered, "That will explain why Tenskwatawa's the defending champion."

Flyte continued, "Now, I know you will all conduct a fair, safe contest. Remember, all the pumpkins are either inside the school or on the grounds. Don't stray beyond the boundaries! May the best house win! Off you go, then!"

Students surged away in every direction, in a much more orderly fashion than Ethan could have imagined possible. Some headed back into the school, some fanned out around the exterior and others headed for the Quidditch pitch and the greenhouses.

Kenny and Eileen led their charges around the south side of the school building, with the lake visible in the distance.

"I'm still not sure what we're looking for," Peter said as they approached the exterior of Bradbury Tower. "Do we just try the spell on everything we see?"

"No, you'll see," Kenny told him. "Once you've seen one or two of them, you'll get the hang of it. Keep your eyes out for things that seem unusual or out of place."

Kenny turned back to the first-years as he said this. Because of this, he walked straight into an overturned wheelbarrow in his path and nearly tripped.

"Like this, you mean, Kenny?" Eileen Peltier laughed. In the next instant, she waved her wand at the wheelbarrow, and called out "_Restitue Cucurbita_!"

The battered old wheelbarrow transformed into a large orange pumpkin, about two feet high and very squat.

"Here, Powles, run this back to the judges' platform," Kenny said, having recovered his balance.

Peter lifted the pumpkin with some difficulty and trundled off in the direction from which they'd come.

"I wish I had a wheelbarrow!" Ethan heard Peter grumble as he trudged away.

"Let's split up now so we can cover more ground," Eileen ordered. "Boys, go with Kenny...you stick to the building and the gardens. Girls with me, we'll go around the Quidditch fields and out the Falls trail aways."

"OK, when we get to the front of the school, we'll come out along the edge of the cliff," Kenny agreed. "Then we'll swing in and meet up with you on the trail. Then we can come back along the lake shore."

So Eileen marched toward the playing fields, followed by the five first-year girls. Maddie waved to the boys as she headed off, but Anne didn't look back.

Just as Kenny was about to continue along the school walls, Peter hurried up, out of breath.

"How's everything going, Powles?" the proctor asked.

"Bradbury's got four so far," he answered wheezily. "Danny Dewin got one that had been turned into a house elf! Harrison's got four as well, Tituba's got six."

"And the Prophet's House?" Tim asked.

"Ummm, they've got nine," Peter replied glumly. "They almost got mine too. Harding tried to trip me up by casting a rope across the path, but instead the rope bound itself around Lew Van Nort's legs."

"I see they're learning their house traditions well," Kenny snorted. "Stay vigilant, all of you! We can't afford to lose any pumpkins once we've transfigured them."

The boys fanned out as they moved along the school building. Ethan looked warily from side to side. The truth was he hadn't spent much time on this side of the grounds, so he wasn't sure what might be out of place.

As they neared the front corner of the school, though, he saw a bunch of broccoli leaning against the wall. Not just any bunch of broccoli. No, this one looked to be about three feet tall and it was translucent purple.

Ethan quickly flicked his wand at the broccoli and called out, "_Restitue Cucurbita_!"

The broccoli transformed back into a jack-o-lantern, carved with the face of a vampire.

"Good going, Lloyd!" Kenny exclaimed. "Now, run that to the stall and get back as fast as you can!"

Ethan grabbed the pumpkin, which was quite light because it had been carved already and fairly flew back along the building to the Bradbury stall. Professor Mickelson examined the pumpkin and called out, "That's one more to Bradbury, Professor Tiverton."

Ethan saw that there were now numbers on each house banner. The Bradbury banner's number changed to ten. As Ethan hurried away again, he saw that the Harrison's had eight, Tituba twelve, and Tenskwatawa sixteen.

"It's not even going to be close, Lloyd! Might as well go pick wildflowers!"

Ethan barely glanced over his shoulder. He recognized Simon Brocklebank's shrill voice. Ethan headed back to his group at a run. On his way he passed Marcus, who was balancing two pumpkins in his arms.

"One was a flowering shrub. The other was a broomstick--a Firebolt SE, just stuck in the ground," Marcus told Ethan. "I asked Kenny if I could ride the Firebolt in and _then_ change it back to a pumpkin, but he wasn't sure it would work right."

"Just hurry in and get them counted!" Ethan urged him. "Tenskwatawa's still way ahead."

When Ethan got back to the group, they'd just reached the cliff's edge. The school's portico stretched out to the left, but they turned to the right. Ethan was always awed by the view from Kaaterskill's high perch. The late morning sun lit up the countryside below for miles, to the Hudson some 12 miles away and far beyond.

"Be careful along here," Kenny cautioned them. "There's no way--magic or otherwise--for me to catch you if you fall."

Ethan looked down as they headed up the cliff walk. He'd really never noticed before just how sharply the land fell away. Nothing grew along the long, steep slope, which was strewn here and there with jagged boulders.

To the south of the school lay a meadow, dotted with many small groves of trees and shrubs. Ethan had heard that a great waterfall cascaded down from the mountain at the southern edge of the school grounds, but he'd never seen it.

"I wonder how the girls are doing," Kyle said, just as Marcus found them again.

"Well, I just saw Anne bring one in," he informed them. "Said it was a bludger."

As the others discussed disguised Quidditch equipment, Ethan thought he glimpsed movement behind some shrubs to his right. When he looked more carefully, he saw nothing. He moved closer to the line of bushes, away from the others.

He still saw nothing unusual, but he heard a raspy voice exclaim, "Stupid wizard spawn!"

Ethan shook his head as if he thought he might be dreaming, but then heard something scrabbling in the bushes again.

He looked over at the other boys, who were continuing to walk south, but were paying him no attention.

"Four-eyed idiot boy!" called the derisive voice again. "You can't see me, pea brain!"

Through a gap in the bushes, Ethan did see something moving, but what he saw made no sense to him. A brown furry animal dashed by on all fours. Ethan wondered whether it could be a raccoon, but it seemed too big. A badger, maybe, he wondered. He'd seen a few of them in the Madison zoo, but this seemed browner.

As Ethan puzzled over this, Kenny came up beside him.

"Is there something in there?" he asked.

"It's some sort of animal," Ethan replied. "But I could swear there's something talking, too. Nothing but insults, either; called me 'wizard spawn.'

"Brilliant you nincompoop!" the voice burst out again. The others had finally noticed something was up. As they gathered around, the voice piped up again, shouting, "Bedwetting dunces the lot of you!"

Kenny turned quickly to his crew and whispered, "This may be a tricky pumpkin. You three"--he gestured at Kyle, Tim and Peter--"double around behind the shrub and come up quickly from behind. Ethan, you keep walking along with it. Marcus, come up with me and we'll try to head it off."

"But what if it's _not_ a pumpkin?" Peter asked in a slightly shaky voice.

"Well I've never heard of a jarvey on school grounds, but that's what it sounds like," the proctor said quietly.

"Is it dangerous?" Kyle asked.

"Nah, just very irritating, I think," Kenny said. "Now let's go."

As the others moved away, Ethan kept his eyes on the hedgerow. He heard the animal on the other side and followed the sounds. This wasn't too hard, as the creature was now spitting insults in a nearly constant stream.

"Brainless chump! Tree-hugging twit! Your daddy's a hamster!"

After a few minutes, Ethan heard confused voices, growls and grunts from the other side of the shrubs. His housemates had evidently converged on the beast, but with what result Ethan couldn't tell through the bushes.

"There it goes," he heard Marcus shout.

"Jarvey all right..." came Kenny's voice.

"Boil your bottoms!" the creature shrieked furiously.

"_Restitu..._ergh!" Ethan heard Tim start to cast the pumpkin reversing spell, then stop with a choking sound.

"Look out!" Peter squeaked.

Suddenly what appeared to be the largest ferret Ethan had ever seen bounced out of the shrubs straight at him.

"Gets off us, blondy!" the jarvey shouted as it launched itself at Ethan. As the cackling creature tackled him, Ethan's wand and glasses flew in opposite directions and he toppled over onto his back. A musky stench filled Ethan's nose as the overgrown rodent landed on top of him.

"So long, simpleton!" the animal roared as it sprang away.

His vision fuzzy, Ethan groped for his glasses. As he did, he heard someone burst through the bushes and run past him.

"_Immobulus!_" Kenny's voice called out firmly.

The scrabbling of the jarvey ceased instantly. Ethan felt his glasses with his right hand. When he put them on and looked around he saw Kenny standing over the jarvey, which seemed to have been petrified in its tracks.

"You OK, Ethan?" Tim asked breathlessly as he and the other first-years came through the hedge.

"Yeah, I think so, how about you?" Ethan replied as he looked around for his wand.

"Not bad," Tim answered, brushing grass and twigs from his robes.

"Looking for this?" Marcus asked as he held up the familiar yew wood wand.

"Thanks, man," Ethan said, as he got to his feet.

Everyone gathered around the frozen jarvey curiously.

"What a foul-mouthed creature!" Kyle exclaimed to the general nods of his companions.

"So is it a real jarvey, or a pumpkin?" Peter asked.

"Let's find out," Kenny said. "Everyone together now!"

Six wands were raised and six voices spoke the pumpkin reversing charm in unison. In an instant the jarvey was gone, replaced by the largest pumpkin Ethan had ever seen.

"Whew! It's a good thing I didn't stupefy it!" the proctor said. "It's going to be a good job getting this back to the judges. Can anyone of you do a decent levitation charm yet?"

"Ethan's got it down," Tim said quickly.

Ethan blushed and said, "But only in the classroom..."

But Kenny interrupted, "Let's see how you do, we don't have much time."

Ethan swished his wand and flicked it at the pumpkin and spoke the levitation charm. Keeping his wand steady, he raised the giant squash into the air.

"Looks good to me!" Kenny said. "Tim, you go along just in case. And then both of you get back as quick as you can."

So off they went, Ethan using his wand to keep the pumpkin floating along.

"Only in the classroom, eh?" Tim said, looking on in admiration.

"Well, I didn't know I'd be able to do it with something this big," Ethan told him. "Besides, I don't want anyone to think I'm showing off."

"Unless we see Anne, I wouldn't worry," Tim replied as they reached the front of the school again. Ethan kept the pumpkin moving along effortlessly right into the Bradbury bin.

"Nicely done, Mr. Lloyd," Professor Mickelson congratulated him. "That's one more for Bradbury, Professor Tiverton."

"What? Oh, of course," the transfiguration teacher said sourly. "Where is Skryme? He should be back from his s-s-silly investigation by now."

Ethan and Tim checked the pumpkin totals on the house banners. Tituba now had 40, Harrison 44, Bradbury 54, and Tenskwatawa 55.

"We're just one behind now!" Tim said excitedly.

"But only a few pumpkins are left," Ethan added. "Let's get back to the group right away!"

As they turned to go, Professor Skryme ran up to the judges' platform. He'd lost his usual smooth demeanor; his colorful robes were splashed with mud and he had a frantic look on his face. For a moment, he stood there, sweating and out of breath.

"What is it, Roscoe?" Mickelson asked in alarm.

"Sasquatch!" Skryme managed to mutter. "Couldn't believe it...much too far south...but there's no doubt. There's a Sasquatch loose on the grounds!"

Tiverton and Mickelson exchanged worried looks. Some of the other teachers who'd been observing hurried over to the judges' platform.

"I'll g-g-go tell the Headmaster," Tiverton stuttered. "Professor Mickelson, you keep an eye on things."

"I'll come with you," Skryme gasped, clutching his chest. The two of them dashed into the school.

Tim, Ethan and a few other students who'd been in the area when Skryme ran up stood as if rooted to the spot.

"What's a Sasquatch doing here?" Ethan asked. "I thought they were from out West."

"I didn't know they really existed," Tim said weakly. "People used to claim they'd see them up in the Rockies in Jasper Park, but they could never prove it."

A moment later, Cyrus Flyte strode out the main door.

"The Pumpkin Hunt must be suspended at once," he commanded in a stern voice. "Teachers will please fan out and recall all of the outside hunting parties. Proctors will lead the students back to their houses."

"We'd better go in now," Tim said dejectedly.

"But what about the others? We know exactly where to find them," Ethan said urgently. "It would take longer for a teacher to get to them."

He turned immediately and ran back out towards the South Meadow. Tim started to call after him, then reluctantly followed. When they reached the thicket where they'd caught the jarvey, they saw no sign of Kenny and the other boys.

"Great!" Tim said, "Now what do we do?"

"They probably went to meet the girls," Ethan said, thinking hard. "Over by the lake, right? Look, the grass is all trampled over that way. Let's just follow the trail."

Ethan led the way, quickly but not too hastily as they had to be sure not to lose the trail. In a few minutes they'd reached the southern end of the lake, where a small but swift stream ran out towards the falls. To their relief they spotted the Bradbury first-years gathered around Kenny and Eileen.

Kenny greeted them as they ran up.

"There you are! We wondered whether you were on the way back when word got out about the Sasquatch."

"You know already?" Ethan asked, crestfallen.

"Yeah, Bancroft sent an owl out as soon as he heard," Kenny explained. "Bad luck, I hear we were only one pumpkin behind at the time."

"Yeah, that's right," Tim confirmed glumly.

"Well, let's head in then," Eileen ordered. As they walked along, Ethan looked over the group and noticed that Anne Findlay wasn't with them.

He pointed this out to Tim, who glanced about and then asked Melissa Murthin where she was.

"Oh my, that's right," she gasped. "She'd just gone up the hill across the stream when Kenny and the boys arrived. We hadn't looked up there for pumpkins yet. Eileen must have forgotten!"

"Then she doesn't know about the Sasquatch?" Ethan asked in alarm.

"No, we didn't find out until just before you got back."

"We've got to go get her!" Ethan exclaimed. "Come on, Tim!"

"But, shouldn't we tell Kenny?" Tim started. He stopped and turned to Melissa. "You're sure she went up the hill there?"

Melissa nodded.

"OK, if we're not back in half an hour, make sure Kenny knows!" Ethan heard Tim tell Melissa. A moment later, Tim had splashed across the stream and caught up with Ethan, who was already clambering up the wooded slope beyond.

The ground gradually rose from the lakeside. Maples, pines and birches were scattered on the slope, with clumps of laurel between them.

The boys stopped when the ground leveled off. Looking back, Ethan could see they'd gone just a few hundred yards. He scanned the woods ahead but saw nothing moving, save an occasional squirrel or bird.

"All right, where do we start?" Tim asked.

"Let me think," Ethan answered. "If we went to the left, we'd eventually get to the falls, but that's off the grounds. I've no idea what's straight ahead, but the grounds don't go on forever. But if we bear to the right, we'd probably come right around the other side of the lake and end up..."

"Either in Standish's cottage or the Haunted Swamp," Tim completed the thought. "At least we know that also leads back to the school. But do we know Anne would be thinking about that?"

Suddenly, a short, sharp scream startled them.

"Anne!" Ethan called out.

"It came from over there," Tim said, pointing to the right.

The two boys dashed off again. Ethan had no idea what they were going to do if they found themselves face to face with a Sasquatch. He still wasn't really sure what to expect, as he'd only read about such creatures in rather unreliable muggle books.

The leaves crunched under their feet as they ran in the direction of the scream. After a while, they slowed down and tried to listen again.

"Stay back!" This time they recognized Anne's voice, though she sounded more shrill and scared than they'd ever heard her.

"Just up there," Ethan whispered to Tim, pointing ahead to an area where several pine trees encircled a small hollow. As they got closer, they could see Anne Findlay, her red hair disheveled, standing at the bottom of the hollow.

As they moved forward, a terrible rank odor filled Ethan's nose. Suddenly Tim grabbed Ethan's shoulder to hold him back. What Ethan had thought was a tree trunk moved in front of them. They looked up and saw that the tree trunk was the left leg of the tallest creature they'd ever seen. Ethan guessed it was over ten feet tall. The creature was covered with thick auburn fur, and long red hair fell limply around its shoulders.

"I think we found the Sasquatch," Tim whispered.

"Yeah," was all Ethan could say in reply.

"Now what?" Tim asked.

At that moment the Sasquatch grunted and began heading down into the hollow. Anne screamed again and started up the other side.

"Try to distract it!" Ethan shouted.

"How?"

"Do anything! Here, throw something!"

With that Ethan grabbed a large stick and threw it against the creature's back. Tim had found a good-sized rock, which he sent sailing at the Sasquatch's shoulder.

Now, the Sasquatch is not the most sensitive of creatures, but this one eventually realized that someone was throwing things at it. He stopped his pursuit of Anne and turned to see what it was. As he did so, Ethan and Tim nearly swooned from the stench of Sasquatch breath.

"Apparently it doesn't brush regularly," Ethan said as he scrambled away.

"A pity!" Tim rejoined. "Um, I think we've drawn it away from Anne all right."

Ethan held his nose and looked up. He soon wished he hadn't. His eyes met the befuddled gaze of the gigantic creature as it blinked its red eyes in search of its tormentors.

Now had Ethan and Tim kept quite still when the Sasquatch turned towards them, it might not have seen them at all. But it could hardly have missed Ethan, shaking with fright, one hand over his nose and staring straight into the Sasquatch's eyes.

The creature took one ungainly step towards Ethan, and then stopped as it caught sight of Tim, who was scrambling backwards through the twigs and dried leaves.

A thought suddenly came to Ethan, and apparently a quite different thought came to the Sasquatch at the same instant. So it was that the creature lifted one massive arm and broke a long branch off a nearby pine tree, just as Ethan pulled his wand out of his robes.

The Sasquatch started to swing the branch in Tim's direction, ignoring Ethan for the moment. Ethan took this chance to aim his wand at the big footed beast and shout, "_Restitue Cucurbita!_"

Ethan looked expectantly at the Sasquatch. Nothing happened. Tim jumped out of the way just as the tree branch swept down towards him.

"Darn it!" Ethan yelled in frustration. "I thought maybe..."

"It was worth a try, anyway," Tim called out.

Before either of the boys could come up with another plan, Ethan felt himself being scooped up in the Sasquatch's free hand.

"No! Get off!" he yelled. Ethan kicked and flailed his arms, but it was no use. He found himself firmly held in the beast's fist, the musky stench filling his senses.

The Sasquatch continued to lumber after Tim, who kept backing away from it. The boys had quite forgotten about Anne until Ethan caught a glimpse of her red hair off to the left from his perch in the Sasquatch's leathery hand. She was following them but apparently trying to keep out of the creature's sight.

Tim looked as though his worst nightmare had come alive. Ethan saw the fear in his friend's eyes and wondered why he didn't simply turn around and run away. Then he realized that neither Anne nor Tim would abandon him while he remained in the Sasquatch's grip. On the other hand, it seemed clear neither had any idea how to rescue him yet.

This thought distracted Ethan for a few seconds, but the sight of Tim tripping over a fallen branch brought him back to their hopeless situation.

Trying to get back up, Tim managed to slip on wet leaves and get tangled up in some vines that had grown along the ground. The Sasquatch was nearly atop him and raised his arm to strike.

"Do something, Anne!" Ethan yelled as he again caught a glimpse of the girl's red hair somewhere below him on the left.

"Like what?" she called back.

"ANYTHING!" Ethan answered. The beast had loosened his grip on Ethan a bit as it concentrated on swinging the branch at Tim. Ethan renewed his flailing attempts to free himself, but only succeeded in sliding his wand into the Sasquatch's ear, where it stuck.

The Sasquatch grunted and looked straight at Ethan again, then shook its head violently in an unsuccessful attempt to dislodge the wand from its ear.

Tim was still flat on his back looking up at the Sasquatch and Ethan. While the beast was worrying about its ear, Anne stepped out in front of it, wand in hand. As Ethan had earlier, she shouted the first spell she could remember: "_Wingardium Leviosa!_"

The tree branch floated upwards out of the grasp of the Sasquatch. The beast looked slowly up, as did Ethan and Tim. For a moment, Ethan thought the branch would float right out of the woods. But just as it reached the tree tops, it fell back down and caught the Sasquatch squarely on the back of the neck.

The red eyes opened wide, then shut. The Sasquatch wobbled back and forth, and then fell straight forward into the leaf mold. Tim managed to roll away just in time as the creature's head came to rest against the fallen branch. Ethan clambered out of the Sasquatch's hand and pulled his wand out of the gigantic ear, only to find it caked in some greyish substance.

"Yuk! Bigfoot earwax!" he exclaimed as he wiped the wand off in the creature's fur.

"Is it dead then?" Tim asked as he stood next to Ethan.

"No, look...it's still breathing," Anne said from the other side of the Sasquatch's head. "Let's get out of here!"

"Yeah!" the boys fervently agreed.

But before they could take two steps, they heard many footsteps crunching through the woods towards them. Ethan looked up and saw that Professor Bancroft had nearly reached them, looking very grim indeed. Close behind him strode Tiverton, his nervous tic very much in evidence. Next came Roscoe Skryme, looking even more mussed and rumpled than he had earlier. Bringing up the rear was Kenny Sturtevant, whose face was white as a sheet.

Tiverton leaned down to examine the Sasquatch. Skryme stayed back, surveying the creature nervously. Bancroft was looking at the three first-years with a cold fury Ethan had never before seen in his eyes.

"I don't know what could have possessed you!" Bancroft said angrily. "You're all lucky to be alive. If Miss Murthin hadn't alerted your proctors..."

Ethan looked down at the ground and he sensed that the others had also hung their heads.

"It's my fault, Professor," Anne said, her wand still out. "When I heard about the Sasquatch, I was so sure it was a transfigured pumpkin I just had to go and find it. Ethan and Tim just came to my rescue. If they hadn't come when they did, I wouldn't be standing here now."

"No, really it was my fault, Professor Bancroft," Tim insisted. "I thought I could handle the Sasquatch, because we have them in Canada and I'd read all about them. I, ah, I didn't think we had time to go for help."

Ethan could hardly believe his ears. Anne, who'd been mad at him all week, and Tim, who always followed the rules, were both taking the blame when it had been he--Ethan--who'd run into the woods without telling Kenny.

Bancroft raised one eyebrow and turned to Ethan.

"Well, Mr. Lloyd, do you have anything to add?"

"Ah, no, sir, except that Anne was the one who knocked the Sasquatch out by levitating the branch it had grabbed to attack Tim."

"Well, I don't know how any of you thought for a moment that you could handle a creature like a Sasquatch on your own!" Bancroft admonished them. "I ought to take fifty points from each of you for such foolhardy behavior!"

"But, Professor..." Ethan started to protest, but Bancroft held up his hand.

"However, I really must take into account the fact that the three of you are standing here, not too much the worse for wear," he continued. "And that there's an unconscious Sasquatch on the ground over there. So I will take five points from each of you for your miserable judgment. But I'll award twenty points to you, Miss Findlay, for your quick recall of spells."

"We'd best run along now, don't you think, Herodotus?" Skryme asked nervously. "It might wake up, after all."

"Very well, Roscoe," Bancroft answered. "You take the students along with you. Professor Tiverton and I will finish dealing with the creature."

"Come along, then," Skryme directed the students as he led the way back towards the school.

Skryme hurried them into the school as if _he_ was being chased by a Sasquatch.

On the way back to Bradbury Tower, Kenny tried to scold them.

"Bancroft is right," he told the three first-years. "There's no reason in the world why you aren't dead. You should have told me and Eileen and we could have gotten the teachers out there."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you where I was going," Ethan told the proctor. "But if we'd waited any longer, we might not have found Anne in time."

"Ethan's right about that," Anne admitted. "I wouldn't have lasted much longer."

"Well, you may be right," Kenny said. "But it was a huge gamble. You can be sure that Flyte will hear about it."

They'd reached the Bradbury common room door. Kenny gave the password--it had been changed to "deerslayer" the week before--and the Dutchman swung open. The room was noisy with boisterous students, talking about the hunt, the Sasquatch and the coming feast. The proctor stepped into the room.

Ethan was about to follow when Anne said, "Wait a minute, both of you."

Ethan and Tim hung back and looked over at Anne. A few seconds of embarrassing silence followed.

"I'm sorry," she began sheepishly. "The way I acted the past few days was totally bogus. I'm surprised you even _wanted_ to rescue me from that thing. Thanks."

"Ah, don't worry about it," Ethan said. "I know you would have done the same thing if either of us had been out there."

"Yeah," Tim agreed. "Besides, if we hadn't come looking for you, we wouldn't have seen you knock a Sasquatch on its face...that was wicked! Oh, and thanks for saving me, too."

Ethan nodded fervently and said, "Thanks, Anne!"

With that, the three of them entered the hubbub of the common room. Marcus, Melissa and the others besieged them with questions and congratulations. Evidently the tale of their adventure had already spread throughout the house. And from that moment on, Ethan, Tim and Anne became firm friends. When you find that you can count on someone to help you bring down a ten-foot Sasquatch, perhaps you can't help liking them.

And later at the Halloween Feast, the afterglow of their adventure helped make up for Flyte's announcement that Tenskwatawa had won the Pumpkin Hunt and a total of 130 house points.


	12. Flight and Pursuit

_Chapter Twelve  
Flight and Pursuit_

The first few weeks after Halloween passed quickly. Schoolwork took on more urgency as the students realized that more than half the term had slipped away. Ethan felt buried in an avalanche of homework. He wondered whether Pete, Ryan and Justin were working as hard at O'Keefe. He still felt he was doing well in Charms and Transfiguration and he thought he was holding his own in Hsu's Dark Arts class. He knew that Potions and Herbology were still his weak spots. Renfro seemed to relish pushing the class to the breaking point each meeting, so Ethan at least felt he was in good company. He got by in Crockett's class with Tim's help. He helped pull Anne through History of Magic. The boys continued to find Bancroft's classes fascinating, while Anne simply thought them bewildering.

"I don't see how learning about Gustavus the Gullible's mission to the Sasquatch of the Cascades in 1725 will help me in the least!" she exclaimed in exasperation to Ethan and Tim over lunch one day. "After all, _we_ already know they can't carry on a normal conversation with humans."

"Well, Bancroft didn't know we'd be seeing one ourselves when he planned the class," Ethan said. "But anyway, I'm sure that Vo..I mean You-Know-Who would be happy to have them on his side, so the more we know about their history the better."

They didn't see much of Kenny. The fifth-years were all starting to feel the pressure of O.W.L.s. Even though the exams themselves weren't until May, the professors constantly found ways to mention them, several of them promising end-of-term exams that would follow the structure of O.W.L.s. When Kenny wasn't immersed in reading, writing or practicing spells, he was out on the fields practicing Quidditch. The Bradbury team would be taking on Tenskwatawa House later in the month, and Danny Dewin, the team captain, was pushing them relentlessly in practice.

So it was that Ethan and his friends let the sphinx fade into the far reaches of their thoughts for most of the month of November. Bancroft said no more on the subject either in or out of class, so it appeared he had also let the matter drop. Meanwhile, Flyte made no new pronouncements on the situation in Britain.

The _Wizard's Daily Sentinel_ ran regular dispatches from their English correspondents assuring readers that reports of the Dark Lord's rising were unfounded and an unnervingly large number of the students seemed satisfied with stories that suggested that anyone who believed otherwise was deluded.

Simon Brocklebank relished the opportunity to taunt Ethan, waving a copy of the _Sentinel_ in his face at breakfast one morning and shouting, "What do you think of that, Mr. Para-Lloyd? Are you sure You-Know-Who's not hiding under your bed? I bet we can find a nice padded room where you and scarboy can trade tall tales! Or maybe your 'rents should ask Crazy Harry where to find their old boss!" Woody Harding guffawed as he sauntered up behind Brocklebank.

Ethan tossed his books to one side, and stood up with clenched fists. Tim put his hand on Ethan's shoulder and forced him to sit back down.

"Just ignore the idiot!" he exclaimed. "He's got nothing better to do and he'd love to get you to lose a few points for Bradbury."

"That's right, calm the little boy down, Van der Muggle," Brocklebank sneered as he walked away, Harding and Van Nort right behind him. "Lord knows we don't want any scenes!"

It was Tim's turn to struggle with his temper. He flushed at Simon's insult and tried in vain to think of a comeback. Anne did it for him, remarking calmly, "At least he knows the difference between angelica and asphodel, unlike some "purebloods" around here."

Then Brocklebank's face turned red and he stammered, "You'll get yours too, Findlay, if you keep hanging around with the likes of them!" It wasn't much of a retort and he knew it, throwing down the newspaper and hurrying away with his entourage.

Ethan picked up the _Sentinel_, not expecting to find any thing worth reading. He skipped the top story, headlined _Secretary of Magic Hosts Summit: Decade of Hemispheric Harmony Proclaimed_ and quickly saw the article that had set Brocklebank off: _High Inquisitor Tightens Hogwarts Standards_. The story mostly focused on new inspections for teachers, but also stated that "_the new regime has no place for publicity-seeking shirkers among the students, not even the highly eccentric Harry Potter, whose shenanigans have heretofore been tolerated by Headmaster Albus Dumbledore._"

Ethan briefly wondered whether the _Sentinel _would classify him as a "publicity-seeking shirker." _Whatever I am, I'm no shirker_, he answered himself, _and the last thing I want is more newspaper articles about me_. With that, he too threw the newspaper down and headed off to class.

That evening, Ethan was trying to finish up the essay on Shrinking Potions due the next day. Tim was across the room reading a chapter from _The Standard Book of Spells, Level One_. The common room was full of other Bradburys with similar concerns; it was nearly as quiet as the library for a change. Around eight o'clock, Ethan heard a commotion outside the door. He looked up as the painting swung outwards and saw Kenny Sturtevant, Danny Dewin, Jenny Templeton and Nick Cooper march in, still in their muddy Quidditch outfits, broomsticks in hand. Ethan thought he'd never seen them look this bedraggled and downcast.

"What do we do now?" Nick asked as the four of them stood in front of the fireplace. "What chance do we have without East?"

"Maybe Abernathy will let him out by Saturday," Dewin said hopefully. The Quidditch players didn't really seem to notice their housemates staring at them, wondering.

"Are you kidding, Danny?" said Kenny. "You heard Galvez. He said he hadn't seen an injury that bad since the '74 World Cup."

"There's no way Abernathy would let him play, even if the bones are all healed," Jennifer said dejectedly.

Marcus Gibson finally asked what everyone else in the room wanted to know.

"What's going on, Kenny?"

Kenny turned to Marcus as if he'd just noticed there was someone else in the room.

"Oh, sorry, it's just that Harry East had a nasty accident during practice," he said to Marcus, Ethan and the others listening closely. "It was kind of dark, even though we'd gotten permission to ring the field with blue-flame torches. And it began to snow. Anyway, Sam Doxtater whacked one of the bludgers and Harry couldn't see it coming...he was waiting for me to pass the quaffle to him. As he watched the quaffle, the bludger hit him square in the back of the head. He was probably knocked out by that, then the quaffle hit him in the face and down he went."

Ethan winced as Kenny described the collision.

"He hit the ground with a thud like...," Nick added. "Well, let's just say I've never heard anything like it. Broke both legs and his collarbone. It's amazing he didn't snap his neck."

"Is he going to be OK?" Melissa Murthin asked fearfully.

"In time, sure," Danny Dewin answered. "The bones will probably be better in a few hours at most. But he was concussed pretty badly, too."

"Can't the nurse take care of that, too?" Anne Findlay wondered.

"Yeah, but she takes her time with head injuries," Kenny explained. "And a good thing, too. I've heard that when you rush treatments, the patient can basically wake up a squib."

The group gave a collective shudder of horror at the thought.

"So, we've just got to figure out how to fill a chaser's slot in the next 48 hours," Danny sighed. "And hope that Sam gets over this...she was pretty upset, even though it's not her fault."

"Come on in and let's sit down," Kenny said, ushering the others into the proctors' lounge. He closed the door behind them.

Suddenly, loud chatter replaced the studious silence that had hung over the room before the arrival of the Quidditch players.

"So much for our chances of beating Tenskwatawa," Peter said glumly. "East's the best chaser in the school."

"It's not good," Anne said. "But it's not the end of the world. The seeker's pretty important too and Jenny's a darned good one."

"They still need a new chaser," Marcus chimed in. "Someone who can put the quaffle through the rings, too."

"Can we think of anyone who might be able to do that?" Anne asked with a look of mock puzzlement.

"Maybe we can," Ethan said and he looked straight at Tim, who looked down at his parchment, blushing slightly.

"I think I can," Marcus agreed. "And I'm afraid to say it's not me."

At that moment, the door to the proctors' lounge burst open and Kenny walked quickly over to Tim.

"Van der Meulen, can you join us for a moment?" he said briskly.

"Umm, sure," Tim said, fumbling with the spells textbook and setting down his quill. "Right away, Kenny."

His face now bright red, Tim followed the proctor into the lounge. The door shut again.

The remaining first-years gathered around the large table at which Anne and Melissa had been working.

"Looks like we're not such bad judges of talent after all," Anne said with a grin.

"I hope he doesn't get stage fright," Marcus worried. "Did you see the look on his face when he went in there?"

"He'll get over that," Maddie argued. "Have we ever seen Tim even slightly nervous when he was on a broom?"

"He'd better not think too much about being East's replacement," Peter said cautiously. "Those are big boots to fill."

"Tim's up to it," Ethan said without hesitation.

"I wonder when a first-year last played for the house team," Marcus wondered.

"I'm sure we'll find out soon," Anne said, as the door to the lounge swung open again.

This time, four less distressed Quidditch players emerged with a somewhat dazed-looking Tim.

"Get a good night's sleep, Van der Meulen," Dewin told him. "Remember, practice is at five. I'll talk to Bancroft about getting you a decent broom."

"Remember, Tim, it's not official until Bancroft OKs it," Kenny added. "There's not much doubt he will, though. He's as desperate as we are to win this year."

The four older students trudged upstairs.

The first-years crowded around Tim as he sat back down and pretended to continue taking notes on spells.

"Well, are you going to sit there and act like nothing happened?" Anne asked him incredulously.

"Yeah, come on Tim, you're on the team, right?" Marcus said. "We want to know everything."

Tim looked around at his classmates and shrugged. Ethan thought his friend was laboring to suppress a broad grin.

"Well, yeah, it looks like I'm on the team, on Saturday at least," he told them. "I'll be on as a reserve, if Bancroft approves it. That means as soon as East is OK to play, I sit."

"You might as well give your Charms homework a rest, Tim," Ethan suggested. "We won't be getting to that chapter in class until next week, after the match."

"Yeah, you'd better get some rest," Peter agreed.

"I know, I know," Tim replied. "It's just...ah, I don't know how well I'll sleep."

"Of course you're nervous, Tim," Anne said. "Who wouldn't be? But we all know how well you fly. You'll be fine."

"Oh, I'm not worried about _that_," Tim said calmly.

"You're not?" Anne asked, momentarily confused. "OK, then what is it?"

"Well, I'm afraid this might give Brocklebank a conniption fit," Tim said, finally allowing himself a big smile. "But seriously, I know he'll have something to say about it."

"You leave Simon to us," Ethan volunteered earnestly. "You worry about playing!"

"OK, that's a deal," Tim said as he loaded his books into his satchel and stood up. "I can sleep now."

Despite their admonitions that Tim needed rest, the other first-year boys couldn't keep themselves from discussing quidditch strategy with him for another hour upstairs in their dorm. Finally, as Marcus and Peter tried to explain the strategy employed by the Bulgarian national team in their World Cup semifinal the year before, Ethan pointed out to them that Tim had fallen asleep. Indeed, he was snoring. With that, the rest of them blew out their candles and crawled into their beds.

At breakfast the next morning, Professor Bancroft came down to the first-years' table and told Tim that he was officially on the team. In his right hand he carried a long, narrow package.

"Now, Mr. Van der Meulen, I trust you won't let this go to your head," Bancroft said as he passed the package to Tim. "But I really didn't want you to be stuck with an outmoded broom under the circumstances."

"Thank you, sir," Tim answered as he turned the package excitedly in his hands. "Erm...can I open it?"

"Certainly, after all, you'll need to be flying on it by this afternoon!" Professor Bancroft told him. "Oh, but you'd best open it back in Bradbury Tower."

With that, Bancroft headed back to the faculty table and the first-years set a new speed record going from the Assembly Hall to the Bradbury common room. Once there, Tim set the package down on a long table, untied the packing twine and unwrapped the plain brown shipping paper.

A collective gasp of awe filled the room.

"That's not _just_ a broom, Tim!" Marcus exclaimed. "That's a Quicksilver XL!"

"Fastest broom in North America!" Anne added.

"Can I have a go?" Kyle asked. "I mean, sometime after the match, of course."

Ethan thought the broom was the finest thing he'd ever seen and he felt a small twinge of envy at Tim's good fortune. The Quicksilver was made of a dark walnut wood, aerodynamically shaped with the bristles neatly tied with strong cords. The image of a winged foot, stamped in silver, adorned both sides of the handle end.

Tim stowed the broom beneath his bed and then the group headed off to Charms class, which they reached just on time.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. The Bradbury Quidditch team practiced right after regular classes ended, so Tim missed Music. The team drilled only until darkness fell, so as to avoid further accidents. Tim joined his classmates late for dinner, flopping down between Ethan and Marcus.

Ethan thought his friend looked exhausted; he wondered how he would make it through a real game. But the others questioned him eagerly about practice.

"Did they teach you any new moves?" Marcus asked.

"Not really," Tim replied. "Mostly I just tried to keep up with everyone and watch what they did. Kenny was a big help."

"Well, you know," Anne said, "what you really need to know is how to dodge bludgers."

"That's right, just ask Ethan," Melissa agreed. "After all, who do you think Brocklebank learned from?"

"Just be glad you're not the Seeker, man," Peter added between bites of his cheeseburger. "They're the ones who usually get hurt worst."

"Thanks for that, I feel much better now," Tim said wryly. "But really, chasing the snitch isn't my idea of fun anyway."

With that, Tim started in on a large serving of blueberry sponge and the others let him enjoy it.

Tim retired early that Friday evening at Kenny's insistence. At Anne's suggestion, Ethan went to work on a banner to hang in the stands next day. An old sheet was procured and Ethan brought out some magical paint and ink from the art studio. These he used to paint a moving image of a Quidditch player on a Quicksilver XL hurling a quaffle. Above this he wrote the words, "BRADBURY RULES! Go, TIM, Go!" He flanked the words with the Bradbury coat of arms, which featured a fierce-looking mountain lion.

Finally, Ethan stood back and assessed his work, stifling a yawn as he did.

"That's great, Ethan!" Anne told him, and the others murmured their approval.

"Good, 'cause that's all I can do tonight," said Ethan, yawning again. "Good night, all!"

With that he headed up to the dorm room. Tim's curtains were drawn, so Ethan tried to quietly get into his pajamas and prepare for bed.

But as he climbed into bed, Tim stuck his head out of his curtains.

"Oh, good, it's you, Ethan," he said sleepily.

"Sorry, man, I tried not to wake you," Ethan apologized.

"Oh, not to worry, I wasn't asleep," Tim replied.

"No? I thought you were under strict orders to sleep early tonight," Ethan said with a grin.

"Yeah, well that's a sure way to cause insomnia," Tim answered. "But...actually there is something else."

"What's that?" asked Ethan.

"Well it's just...it really has nothing to do with the game," Tim began. "I mean, I'm not really all that worried about that."

Ethan wished his friend would get to the point.

"OK, it's just this...if you're right about Tiverton trying to get by that sphinx," Tim continued, "What better time to do it than when the whole school's outside watching Quidditch?"

Ethan hadn't given the sphinx or the mystery it guarded much thought the past few days. He tried to get his sleepy brain to focus on Tim's concern.

"But, Tim, he'll have to be at the match, won't he?" he finally said. "After all, Tenskwatawa's playing. If he wasn't there, he'd be missed."

"That's true," Tim said. "Maybe it's a crazy idea. Still, for some reason it's been keeping me awake."

"I'll tell you what," Ethan said. "We'll keep an eye on Tiverton from the stands. If anything funny happens, if he leaves...we'll tail him somehow."

"Don't get into trouble!" Tim said. "Like I said, it's probably crazy to worry about it."

"Now, go to bed, OK?" Ethan said. "Kenny'll have my head if he thinks _I've_ been keeping you awake!"

"OK, good night!" Tim said as he pulled his bed curtains closed again.

Ethan put out his lamp, set his glasses on the bedside table, climbed into his own four-poster and pulled his curtains shut. Within minutes he heard Tim snoring. But now it was Ethan's turn to lie awake and worry.

How could he know when Tiverton would try to get past the Sphinx, after all? Tim was right; it would probably be too difficult for the Transfiguration professor to absent himself from his own house's Quidditch match. But if he did, how could Ethan and his friends do anything to stop him? The more Ethan thought about it, he realized the first-years hadn't really learned any spells that would help. Kenny might know some, but he would be on the Quidditch field with Tim. _If Tiverton gets by the creature, I'll be lucky not to end up as the Sphinx's next meal_. Worst of all, he hadn't figured out what was being guarded beyond that strange doorway.

And yet, for reasons he could not even put into words, Ethan felt responsible for keeping the mysterious item safe. From the moment he had seen the rune on the door that led them to the Sphinx, the feeling had been growing in his mind that this task was meant for him.

But as he lay in bed, wishing he'd fallen asleep as quickly as Tim had, Ethan couldn't help feeling that he was failing in that task. He barely noticed that the other boys had also gone to bed, leaving the room in darkness, except for the light of the full moon shining in through the tall windows.

Finally, Ethan drifted off to sleep, still worrying. His dreams were troubled, but all he could remember next morning were hallways with locked doors, unanswerable riddles and shimmering, many-colored lights.

Saturday dawned cold and clear, the late fall sun shining ineffectually on the mountain top. A blustery breeze blew from the northwest, scattering dried leaves about the grounds.

Ethan awoke to the sound of the wind rattling the dorm windows. He opened the curtains and reached for his glasses. As the room came into focus, he saw that Tim was already up and dressed.

"So, did you get enough sleep?" Ethan asked.

"Guess so," Tim answered in a low voice. "Anyway, I can't sleep another minute. How about you?"

"I slept," Ethan replied ruefully. "But I don't feel a bit rested. I don't think I can go back to sleep, either."

"Well, may as well head down to breakfast," Tim suggested. As soon as Ethan had dressed, they found their way to the nearly-empty Assembly Hall. As the two of them worked their way through oatmeal, sausages and eggs, other students began to filter into the room and a buzz of anticipation arose across the room.

The Bradbury-Tenskwatawa game was scheduled to begin at precisely 10 o'clock. After it ended, Harrison would play Tituba. At about 8:30, Kenny Sturtevant walked over to Tim.

"Come along as soon as you're done," the proctor said. "We need to do final prep a little after 9."

Simon Brocklebank had been watching from the Tenskwatawa table along with his gang. Once Kenny was safely out of the Assembly Hall, he snorted derisively.

"So it's true, eh, Van der Muggle? They're desperate enough to put you on the Quidditch field! Hope you've written your will!"

Van Nort, Harding, Katrina Powles and an older Tenskwatawa Ethan didn't know snickered at Simon's comment.

Tim flushed but it was Anne who spoke up.

"We'll see who's desperate _after_ the match, Brocklebank," she said defiantly.

"Like you told me, just ignore him," Ethan told Tim. "You know he talks because that's all he _can_ do."

Tim shrugged and said nothing, but Ethan thought he was finally showing some nervousness as the match approached. A few minutes later, Tim got up to head out to the locker room.

"Good luck!" Ethan told him. "Not that you'll need it."

"I'll take the luck whether I need it or not!" Tim rejoined.

The other Bradburys headed back to the tower to don sweaters, jackets hats and scarves, as it promised to be a cold day in the bleachers. Ethan folded up his banner and headed down from the dorm to join the others.

Anne was in a buoyant mood, sure that Bradbury would prevail. On the way down the tower, Ethan told her what Tim had said about Tiverton.

"Well, you go ahead and keep an eye on him," she said. "I'll go with you if he suddenly bolts, but I'll bet he'll be so downcast after we get done with his team that he won't be able to move."

The autumn wind felt chilly against Ethan's face as they walked across the grounds. The blustery weather only added to the student's anticipation of the coming match.

"It's been five years since we beat Tenskwatawa," Marcus said. "There are some who think our team's jinxed."

"Nonsense," said Anne dismissively. "It's just a question of having the best players on the best brooms. And this year, we've got both."

"We know that Tim's a great flyer," Melissa added. "But he's a bit of an unknown quantity to everyone else. Even some of our own upper class students aren't sure we've got a chance."

The Quidditch field was ringed by an oval fence, which was interrupted at intervals by five towers, in which the stands were located. At one end of the field was the faculty grandstand, wider but not so tall as the other four. Emblazoned across the base of this tower was the school coat of arms.

The other four towers--one for each house--were arranged along either side of the field. The Harrison and Tituba towers stood on the side nearest the school. But the Tenskwatawa and Bradbury students had to trudge around to the far side to reach their seats.

This brought them past the locker building at the end of the field, opposite the faculty tower. As Ethan's group walked past the lockers on the way to their bleachers, he wondered whether Tim had butterflies in his stomach and he tried to imagine what it would be like to be flying in a match before the whole school.

But he hadn't much time for these thoughts, because just around the corner they found themselves amid a knot of unruly Tenskwatawas, who were delighted to find a small group of young Bradburys to taunt. "Prophets rule, Bradburys drool!" someone shouted, and that was one of the kinder comments.

Anne usually relished a confrontation, but evidently she didn't like the odds, for she whispered to Ethan, "Let's get out of here. There are too many of them!"

Ethan nodded and tried to move ahead toward the Bradbury stands. But Lew Van Nort and an older Tenskwatawa loomed up before him, blocking the way. Just then, Ethan heard Katrina Powles mocking her twin brother again.

Peter replied hotly, "Yeah, well a dozen Prophets aren't worth one Bradbury!"

"You'll pay for that remark, Powles!" Brocklebank retorted and Ethan saw Simon slide his hand into his sweater pocket. "What would you like to be, a toad or a mole?"

Ethan quickly reached for his wand and had it at the ready as soon as Simon had his pointed at Peter.

"Don't even think about it!" Ethan yelled.

"Thinking of playing the hero, eh, Lloyd?" Simon sneered, but he also drew down his wand.

As he did, Professor Tiverton came around the corner. Brocklebank quickly pocketed his wand, but Ethan wasn't as fast.

Tiverton's face folded up in a tic, then he sputtered, "Put that wand away, Lloyd! Spectators are not allowed to do magic at Quidditch matches! That will cost Bradbury ten points and I assure you that Professor Bancroft will hear about it."

"But, sir, Brocklebank threatened to hex Peter," Anne protested.

"That's none of Mr. Lloyd's business--or yours," Tiverton told her. "I see no one else with a wand out. Now, all of you go to your seats at once!"

Ethan was beside himself, but he managed to keep himself from saying anything. As he stowed his wand and headed for the Bradbury stands, he shot a glance at Brocklebank, who smirked unpleasantly in return.

"That's not fair!" he finally exploded as they made their way up the steep stairs of the bleachers. "I only drew my wand _after_ Simon drew his."

"Well, that's true enough," said Anne. "But Tiverton doesn't need much of an excuse to favor his own house. And Simon's obviously good at hiding his wand quickly."

"The weasel!" Marcus exclaimed. "He was just lucky he was already putting it away. Thought better of it when he saw someone would stand up to him. By the way, Ethan, what were you going to hex him with?"

"Dunno," Ethan replied truthfully. "I don't really know any good hexes yet."

"You'd better learn some," Anne admonished him. "You can bet Simon's learned all sorts of annoying spells at home. He'd love to lock your legs together or turn your skin purple, or maybe something worse. My own brothers managed to pick up quite a few on their own--and they aren't into Dark Arts the way the Brocklebanks are."

As they sat down in the top row of the Bradbury bleachers, Ethan pondered Anne's warning. He hadn't really considered it before, but now he realized that she was right--while he was playing Little League or skipping rocks in Lake Monona, Brocklebank was probably practicing nasty curses on bullfrogs. _The only spells I know are the ones the professors at Kaaterskill teach_, he told himself ruefully.

Fortunately, the start of the match drove such matters from his mind in a few moments. A fifth-year Harrison boy, Gordy Lemister, served as commentator. He sat at the front of the faculty grandstand with a large scoreboard hanging in front of him.

"Welcome to today's first match in the Kaaterskill House Quidditch Challenge! Here are today's teams. Beginning at this end of the field, the defending champion Tenskwatawa Prophets!"

There was a roar from the stands to Ethan's right and the Tenskwatawa team shot onto the field from the left side of the locker building.

"And starting on the far side today, the Bradbury Founders!"

Ethan and his friends cheered at the top of their lungs as the Bradbury team flew out to take their places. And there was Tim, hovering at the right chaser position. Peter and Kyle unfurled Ethan's banner so all could read: _"BRADBURY RULES! Go, TIM, Go!"_

"Today's referee will be our own flying instructor, Mr. Bruno Galvez!" Polite applause followed, and then the crowd quieted for a moment.

Cyrus Flyte stood up in the center of the faculty grandstand and spoke in a voice that carried throughout the stands: "May you all bring credit to yourselves and your houses today. Play hard and play fair! May the best team win!"

With that, the bludgers and the snitch were released. A moment later, Galvez hurled the quaffle into the air and the match was underway.

Kenny Sturtevant grabbed the quaffle and flew out of the opening scrum towards the Tenskwatawa goal. One of the Prophets' chasers took off after him. Kenny lateralled the quaffle to Tim, who was trailing him. Before the crowd had a chance to get settled, Tim dodged a defender, gave the keeper a head fake and flung the quaffle through the far hoop.

A bell sounded. Gordy shouted importantly, "Score for Bradbury! That one was by the rookie, Van der Meulen!"

The Bradbury fans cheered loudly, none more so than the first-years. The scoreboard now read "Bradbury 10, Tenskwatawa 0."

Kyle and Peter held the banner up and waved it as play resumed. Gordy began a running commentary.

"Prophets captain Mo Barnhill with the quaffle. Seekers Templeton and Sanchez hovering, no sign of the Snitch as yet. Barnhill over to Miller, Miller dodges a bludger and passes back to Barnhill. Ouch! The bludger takes Barnhill out of the play, nice hit by Bradbury beater Nick Cooper. Travisano now with the quaffle for Bradbury, she's quickly up the field, passes to Van der Meulen on her left. The rookie feints right, then whirls to the left and SCORES! An amazing backhand toss through the center hoop! 20-0 Bradbury!" Gordy announced breathlessly. "This Van der Meulen kid has _some_ moves, that's for sure!"

After the second score, the first-years started to chant "Van der Meulen!" Soon the rest of the Bradbury bleachers rocked with Tim's name.

The Prophets scored their first goal next, but Tim assisted on a goal by Kenny moments later to make the score 30-10.

Before play resumed, Barnhill conferred with his beaters and chasers.

"I wonder what they're up to," Anne said darkly.

She didn't have to wait long to find out. After the next change of possession, Barnhill and a brutish-looking Prophets chaser called Ezra Smead checked Tim hard in the ribs as he headed for the quaffle. Shortly afterwards, one of the Prophets' beaters scored a direct hit on Tim's back with a bludger.

"Looks like the Prophets aren't going to let the rookie walk over them," Gordy commented. "That _had _to hurt!"

Tenskwatawa continued to harass Tim, being careful not to hit him when Galvez was looking. They took Bradbury out of their game and slowly caught up, then built a lead, 30-50. Matters continued thus until Tenskwatawa held a commanding 40-110 lead after two hours.

Ethan had been keeping an eye on the faculty grandstand throughout the match. Professor Tiverton hadn't gone anywhere; he cheered each Prophets' score loudly and was smiling broadly.

The first-years' initial elation had given way to dismay as Tim took hit after hit.

"Why doesn't Galvez call a foul?" Ethan asked in frustration.

"Well, he should," said Marcus. "But if you've noticed, they only hit him when they're sure Galvez is looking elsewhere."

"They're brutes, but clever brutes," Anne added ruefully.

"It's lucky he's got that Quicksilver," Marcus asserted. "It really maneuvers well and he's avoided them a couple of times. But no one can take that kind of a beating for long."

Finally, after two more Tenskwatawa goals, Danny Dewin signaled for a time out. While the players conferred on the ground, the low murmur of the crowd filled the air. And a new chant arose from the Tenskwatawa stands: "_Maul the Mudblood! Maul the Mudblood!_" Ethan turned to his right and saw Simon Brocklebank gleefully leading the cheer.

But on the field the Bradburys had finally adjusted their play to frustrate further attacks on Tim. When Melinda Travisano grabbed the quaffle, the three chasers set up a wheel formation just outside the scoring area. The Prophets alternately tried to foul Tim and steal the quaffle, but the Bradburys passing was perfect.

"Why aren't they shooting?" Peter asked impatiently.

"Dunno," Marcus answered. "Wait a minute. I see what they're doing. They're keeping the ref's attention on Tim. They're trying to draw the Prophets into a penalty."

"But will they fall for it?" Ethan wondered aloud.

"There's your answer," Marcus pointed.

Just then Barnhill and Smead, frustrated by the Bradbury tactics, smacked into Tim hard just after he'd passed off to Melinda. Galvez was looking straight at them, as Tim hurtled towards the ground and narrowly missed a crash.

"Another vicious hit on Van der Meulen!" Gordy commented. "Looks like a foul this time, though."

Galvez admonished Barnhill sharply, and then called the Prophets for not one, but two fouls.

Tim had recovered and zoomed back, his face a bit bloodied. Even from the stands Ethan caught a look of defiance in his friend's eyes.

"The ref's awarding two penalty shots," Gordy announced. "He's called Barnhill for blatching and Smead for cobbing. Sturtevant makes the first shot, firing it over Alton Van Nort's left shoulder. Van der Meulen takes the second penalty shot and...Oh, a great block by Van Nort. Play continues, Bradbury in possession."

Alas, the penalties only briefly stemmed the Prophets' tide. Finally, the score read Bradbury 50, Tenskwatawa 200.

"If this gets any worse, even catching the Snitch won't help," Peter moaned.

"Hang on, something's happening back there," Ethan said, pointing high in the air over the Bradbury side of the field.

Indeed, Jenny Templeton had caught a glimpse of the golden Snitch and was now in hot pursuit of the winged ball. The Prophets' seeker, Sanchez, was slow to catch up, but presently both seekers were hurtling around behind the Bradbury goal, pushing off and elbowing each other to get the advantage.

The crowd was transfixed by the chase and even the other players seemed a bit distracted.

"But if she catches it now, we don't even win!" Peter repeated.

"I'll take a draw at this point," Anne said, pointing towards the Prophets fans. "Anything so long as _they_ don't win."

In the next moment, Ethan glanced to his left and saw that Bradbury had regained the quaffle. Melinda moved up on the left, dodged a defender, and then dumped off to Tim. A bludger whizzed past him, missing by inches, then Tim sped around behind the hoops.

Ethan didn't know which way to turn. Templeton and Sanchez were now high above the field again, a glint of gold fluttering before them. Turning to the left again, Ethan saw Tim swoop back to the front of the hoop, draw off Keeper Van Nort with a fake shot at the near goal then swiftly hurl the quaffle through the center hoop.

Before Gordy could even yell "Score!" a roar came from the stands, for Jenny had managed to grasp the snitch. As she glided down to the ground, she held the snitch aloft triumphantly.

Gordy shouted hoarsely, "The match is over! An amazing finish! Van der Meulen scored to make it Prophets 200, Founders 60 and Templeton's got the snitch for another 150 points! Bradbury wins!"

The Bradbury bleachers erupted in joyful cheers. Ethan jumped up and down, exchanging high-fives with everyone in reach and joining in the spontaneous cheers of "Rah, Rah Templeton! Rah, Rah Van der Meulen! Rah, Rah BRADBURY!"

He glanced over at the faculty grandstand again. Professor Bancroft smiled broadly as he shook the headmaster's hand. But Professor Tiverton was nowhere to be seen.

"Where'd Tiverton go?" he wondered aloud.

"Couldn't stand to lose?" Marcus suggested absently as he and Kyle did an impromptu victory dance atop the bench. "Who cares?"

But Anne gave Ethan a look that told him she shared his suspicions.

"He was there two minutes ago," she said.

"Let's go," Ethan replied. Anne nodded and they made their way down through the celebrating crowd. Oblivious to Gordy's announcement that the Harrison-Tituba match would begin in twenty minutes, they hurried out of the stands and behind the field. As they turned past the clubhouse, Ethan caught a glimpse of someone hurrying through the main door of the school.

"There he goes!" he shouted. He and Anne sprinted across the lawn and through the doors.

The lobby was deserted. In fact, the school was quieter than Ethan had ever known it. They stopped just inside the door and stood, listening. They were rewarded with the echo of footsteps fading down the empty hallway to their left.

Neither Ethan nor Anne had ever ventured far down this hall, for it wasn't on any of their direct routes to or from class. They could see no one, but without a word they hurried after the footsteps as quietly as they could.

Once past the entry, the passage became dark and gloomy, with no windows. Ethan had already completely forgotten the quidditch match and soon he could barely remember that the sun was shining outside.

Presently they came to a corner. The passage turned at a right angle and seemed to slope down slightly.

Anne stopped at the corner. Thoroughly winded, she leaned against the wall to catch her breath. Ethan nearly doubled over, hands on his knees, panting.

From above them, a stern voice said, "You shouldn't be here, you know!" Startled, Ethan looked around and realized the voice belonged to a gaunt wizard in colonial garb whose portrait overlooked the corner. "You should be out at the match with the others."

"Yeah, we're going right back," Ethan said, surprising himself with this fabrication. "We're just, um, looking for a friend."

"You won't find him down here," the wizard portrait told them. "The only one past here for hours was a professor."

"When was that?" Anne asked.

"Not two minutes ago, I should say," the wizard portrait answered.

Ethan and Anne looked at each other and continued at a brisk trot down the sloping passage.

"I told you, you won't find your friend down there," the portrait called after them. "Really, now, you students should learn to listen!"

After they'd gone some distance, Anne stopped again and said," Ethan, I know where we are. That's the doorway to Tenskwatawa House. And up there is the staircase to the owl roost."

"That means we're close," Ethan whispered. "Where's that statue of the snake?"

"Ugh! I'd forgotten that we had to go past that," Anne said with a shudder. "I don't see it yet."

They crept forward slowly now. The corridor was completely quiet and no brighter than it had been at night two months earlier.

Ethan thought he could see the false painted corridor coming into focus ahead.

Anne tapped him on the shoulder and whispered, "You know, Ethan, we could be wrong. Tiverton may just have been heading to..."

She stopped abruptly and pointed at the ceiling. Ethan looked up and saw a huge snake, coiled as if ready to strike, hovering high above the corridor. It took a moment for him to realize that it was the statue and that it was gliding slowly in their direction.

Ethan wanted to turn and run, but he found his legs wouldn't move. Anne also seemed rooted to the spot, her eyes wide with fear.

The snake floated directly above them. Then a harsh voice shouted "_Finite!_"

In that instant the snake began to descend on the students. Ethan instinctively covered his head with his hands, expecting to be crushed in seconds by the heavy stone snake. Instead, another voice cried "_Frangite!_" There followed the sharp sound of stone splintering into thousands of tiny shards that showered down upon them.

Ethan found himself covered with fine rock dust, rather than flattened by the weight of the statue. Dazed, he raised his eyes and saw Anne sprawled on the floor next to him.

Struggling not to choke on the fine dust, he croaked, "Anne, are you OK?"

She coughed, then replied, "I think so. How about you?"

"I think I'm OK, too," Ethan told her. "Except for this awful dust."

"I'll take the dust over being crushed to death," Anne said fervently. "What happened? Was that your spell?"

"Nope," Ethan answered. "I don't know who did. But it sure seems someone didn't want us to be here."

Ethan stopped, for he was suddenly aware that they were not alone. He looked up to see the stooped figure of Epaphras Beadle, the Keeper of Buildings, his hair as unkempt as ever, his stubbly face turned down in a frown as he surveyed Ethan and Anne.

"Well, well, well," Beadle said. "What have you two gotten into? Looks to me like you've caused a load of trouble."

Ethan fumbled for an explanation. "I was, I mean..we were just going to..."

Beadle held up his hand and said, "Save your breath, youngster. You've no business being in this corridor when you should be out at the game. And this is a long way from Bradbury Tower! No, you both just come along with me."

Ethan felt as miserable as he ever had as he trudged along obediently behind Beadle. He couldn't escape the feeling that they were about to be expelled. He couldn't bring himself to look at Anne, for it was his fault that she was in trouble, too. If he got himself thrown out of Kaaterskill, he could always go back to muggle school at O'Keefe. But Anne had no school to go back to on her family's island.

He could not imagine that things could get worse, but they did. As they reached the corridor along which the Sphinx was concealed, Beadle stopped.

"Ah, hello there, Professor, sir" Beadle said deferentially. "Sorry to hear how the match ended."

"Hello, Beadle," Terence Tiverton answered. "Thanks, but what have we here?"

"Found these two loitering down there," Beadle said as he gestured back down the hall. "Probably some house prank, but they made quite a mess of that snake statue."

"Really?" Tiverton sounded surprised as he surveyed the dust-covered Bradburys. "Mr. Lloyd, you just can't stay out of trouble, can you? And Miss Findlay, you should choose your friends more carefully! That will be twenty-five points from Bradbury from each of you."

Ethan felt the bottom drop out of his stomach at Tiverton's words. There was no use protesting, but now he'd be remembered as the boy who'd lost Bradbury 60 points on the day he'd been kicked out of school.

"Shall I take care of them, Professor?" Beadle asked.

"Indeed, Beadle. I've got to get back to the second match."

"Very well, sir," Beadle answered, then said to Ethan and Anne, "Off we go now."

Beadle's office was in a part of the dungeons that could only be reached by a spiral staircase located just off the main entrance. Down they went. When they reached the bottom, Ethan thought they must have been two or three stories below ground.

They found themselves in a small and somewhat dingy office, with an ancient desk strewn with papers next to two ranks of old metal filing cabinets.

Off to the right were two rooms that seemed to be Beadle's living quarters.

"Well, then, clean yourselves up," Beadle ordered as he tossed them each an old towel. "And then sit down."

Ethan brushed the dust off his face and hands as best he could and then sat down in one of several uncomfortable metal chairs in front of Beadle's desk.

Beadle had been feeding a very large crow in a cage that hung from the ceiling above his desk. As Ethan and Anne sat down, the crow gave a vigorous, scolding caw.

"What's that, Manfred?" Beadle spoke to the crow. "No, these ones aren't your dinner. Not at this time, anyway."

"You _don't_ feed students to that crow?" Anne asked, horrified.

Ethan would not have found anything surprising at that moment, but Beadle shook his head.

"No, miss," the buildings keeper replied with a grin. "He's ever hopeful, though. In the old days, they had real punishments! Alas, I was born too late for that!"

"What are you going to do with us?" Ethan asked, unable to take the suspense any longer. "Are you going to expel us?"

"_Expel you?_" Beadle asked incredulously, suddenly roaring with laughter. "Now what good would that do? We can't have budding miscreants such as you wandering around the world, now can we? Oh, no, there are much more effective treatments!"

Ethan was silent. The weight that he had felt in his stomach ever since Beadle had apprehended them lifted just a bit. It seemed they wouldn't be sent home, yet the alternative sounded ominous.

"We can start with detention, I suppose," Beadle said, pulling some papers out of his desk drawer. "Let's see, what are your names again?"

"Findlay. Anne Findlay, sir," Anne volunteered in a small voice.

"Findlay, right, here you are," Beadle said as he drew his finger down one of his papers. Without looking up, he continued. "Well, Miss Findlay, I suppose that Phineas, Nicholas, Tycho and Herschel Findlay are related to you?"

"Yes, sir," Anne said. "They're my brothers."

"Troublemakers, all of them!" Beadle exclaimed. "Well, except for Herschel, of course. A good Head Boy he was, yes."

Beadle turned to appraise Ethan.

"And you?"

"Lloyd, sir. Ethan Lloyd."

"Lloyd, yes of course," Beadle said, keeping his eyes on Ethan. "Who are your parents, boy?"

"Griffin and Diana Lloyd, sir," Ethan answered. Why, he wondered, did everyone, even the school custodian, have to ask about his family history?

"I should have known," Beadle said in a near-whisper, as if talking to himself. Then he continued in a normal voice. "Whatever you two were up to, it was your idea, wasn't it, boy?"

Ethan hesitated, trying to calculate the implications of his answer. Then he decided that telling the truth might get Anne out of trouble.

"Umm, yes, sir, it was," he admitted, looking into Beadle's eyes.

"Worried about a family heirloom, by any chance?" Beadle pressed him.

This was close enough to the truth that Ethan began to feel panicky. If the Keeper of Buildings could guess what he was after, who else could?

"What do you mean?" he replied, trying hard to sound clueless.

"I'm not trying to get you to confide anything you don't have a mind to share," Beadle said in a voice that suddenly sounded almost kindly. "But I knew your parents well. Your father got into too many scrapes, especially in his early years, and I don't doubt you take after him. But I've never yet met a better wizard--or a better witch than your mother. But I'm tellin' you, Mr. Lloyd, _it's quite safe_!"

Ethan and Anne both kept silent.

"Very well, keep your secret, then," Beadle finally said. "I'm not going to punish you any more than Professor Tiverton already has. After all, that statue belonged to his house."

"You're not even giving us detention?" Ethan asked, unbelieving.

"No," Beadle told them. "But I am going to give you some advice. This school can be a dangerous place to them that recklessly run about and ignore its secrets. There are spells and protections set for the unwary, even curses the like of which you can't imagine. So, keep your guard up."

"Thanks, sir," Ethan and Anne said together, finally realizing they'd been let off.

"Off you go, now," Beadle waved towards the spiral stair. "But remember, I'll not always be around to help you out of scrapes. Oh, and one last thing...Don't spread it about that I went easy on you! Can't let that get around, can I?"

Ethan and Anne assured Beadle they would keep his leniency to themselves. Then they rushed up the spiral stairs, back through the entry hall and out to the quidditch field.

Cheers, chants and collective groans filled the air, so they knew the whole school was still watching the contest between Harrison and Tituba. They slipped back into the Bradbury stands and rejoined Marcus, Kyle and the other first years.

"So, Ethan, where've you been?" Tim shouted. He was still dressed in his mud-streaked uniform and held the Quicksilver XL in his left hand. "You look almost as filthy as me!"

Ethan walked over to Tim, leaned over and said quietly, "I'll tell you later." Then he clapped Tim on the shoulder and said in a louder voice, "Congratulations! You did a great job out there!"

Tim winced and cradled his left shoulder.

"Sorry," said Ethan sheepishly.

"Oh, don't worry," Tim said. "I just got knocked around a bit. Lucky I used to play hockey, I'm used to it!"

"I couldn't believe the beating they gave you," Anne interjected. "Are you really OK?"

"Sure," Tim assured her. "As long as I don't raise my arms too far or breathe too deeply."

The Bradburys watched the Harrison-Tituba match with some interest, although not as avidly as they had their own contest against the Prophets. Tituba had dominated, Marcus informed Ethan. Just before the two-hour mark, the Tituba seeker grabbed the fluttering snitch right in front of the faculty grandstand.

It was the Titubas' turn to celebrate. Then Tim headed to the locker room and everyone else headed back into the school building, glad to be out of the wind.

By the time Ethan and his classmates made it back to the Bradbury common room, the party had already begun. Some of the older students had acquired several cases of butterbeer, pumpkin cakes, wonderfully strange chocolates and sweets from the shops in the village at the Landing. Others had visited the kitchens and returned with pumpkin juice, shoofly pie, baked apples and cranberry ices.

Floating around the room just below the high ceiling, sparklers spelled out the names of all the Bradbury House quidditch players. When the team arrived back from the lockers, they were greeted with enthusiastic cheers. After a few minutes, Danny Dewin raised his hand to speak.

"Well, we did it!" he exclaimed, smiling broadly. "It's a first for me, beating Tenskwatawa! In fact, the first time Bradbury's beaten them in seven years! We won because we played as a team. Everyone did their job and worked together!"

The room rang again with applause. Then Danny continued, "We know we've got a great team this year! But I want to recognize three players today...first, Jenny Templeton, the best seeker at Kaaterskill!"

Jenny, a tall, slender girl with long blonde hair, smiled and also blushed a bit as Danny insisted she stand and the Bradburys cheered.

"Second, someone who redefined the term 'substitute' today...Tim Van der Meulen, who I think has a great quidditch future ahead of him! Come on, Tim, you're not too bruised to stand up!"

Tim grudgingly stood up, blushing deeply.

Again, the room rang with cheers. Then Danny produced a quaffle from behind his back and continued, "But the team decided that a game quaffle should go to Harry East, the best chaser at Kaaterskill! Harry, we managed without you today, but you'd better be ready to play next time!"

East, an athletic 7th-year with chestnut hair still partially obscured by a bandage, stepped forward and accepted the quaffle from Danny. He acknowledged the Bradburys' applause with a quick wave and stepped back behind Danny. Ethan didn't think East looked overjoyed at his award, but then he was only a few days removed from a near-fatal accident.

The party continued until dinner, then picked up again later. Players and fans alike tired early that night, having spent most of the day out in the cold wind of the mountain top and most of the evening celebrating in the cozy common room.

Ethan and Anne had no chance to discuss their pursuit of Tiverton with Tim until after 10:00, when the last few celebrants headed sleepily up to the dorms.

Ethan was starting to nod off himself in a comfortable arm chair in front of the fire, but he willed himself to stay awake until they'd told the equally sleepy Tim the whole story.

After listening carefully, Tim asked, "Well, so do you really think Tiverton was headed for the Sphinx?"

"I'd just begun to doubt it," Anne began, "but then..."

"But then he tried to _kill_ us with that snake statue," Ethan broke in. "And then he acted as if we'd destroyed it as a prank."

"But I don't get it," Tim said. "It sure sounds like he wanted to drop that statue on you. But someone shattered it before it hit you. Who was it?"

"It must have been Beadle," Ethan answered. "Who else could it have been?"

"But he didn't say anything about it," Anne said, her brow furrowed in thought. "And that was a powerful bit of magic _and_ quick thinking to boot."

"Doesn't sound like Beadle to me," said Tim.

"But I told you, Tim, there's more to Beadle than we've thought," Ethan insisted. "And he was standing there the minute we got up. As far as I could tell, the only people in the whole school were Anne, me, Tiverton and Beadle."

"I guess you're right," Tim agreed reluctantly. "You know, the proctors won't be pleased when they find out about the points you two lost."

"I know, I know," Ethan said with a grimace. "But if we stopped Tiverton getting past that Sphinx, it was worth it, don't you think?"

The others nodded.

Anne added, "And I'll wager he won't dare to try again anytime soon. Like Beadle said, it's well protected."

"I hope so," said Tim with a yawn. "'Cause I can't stay awake a minute longer."

The others nodded. Anne headed up the stairs to the girls' dorm and a moment later, the boys went up to their beds.

"Well, it was quite a day," Tim said as he pulled his curtains shut. "Good night, Ethan!"

"Good night!" Ethan whispered from his own bed. Within minutes he was asleep and if he dreamed of sphinxes or runes, he had no recollection of it in the morning.

_Page 22 of 22 Printed 7/25/05_


	13. A Setback and a Reprieve

_Chapter Thirteen_

A Setback and a Reprieve

Tim's foreboding about the reaction to his friends' misadventure turned out to be justified. At breakfast the next morning, Kenny Sturtevant strode up to the first-years, looking grim. Ethan braced himself for the worst.

"Findlay, Lloyd," he said briskly. "I'd like a word with you in private. Come along."

As Ethan rose to follow Kenny and Anne out of the Assembly Hall, he looked back at Tim, who could only return a helpless look of commiseration. The others looked mystified.

The proctor led them silently down the corridors to a nearby classroom, empty as it was Sunday. Kenny beckoned them to sit at a desk in the front row; he remained standing.

"I don't know what you two thought you were up to yesterday," he said gravely. "But I can tell you that you didn't make any friends. When Danny Dewin came down this morning, he saw the house points and thought there'd been some mistake. The win yesterday _should_ have put us just five points behind Tenskwatawa, twenty ahead of Tituba. But Danny saw that Bradbury was 65 points behind the Prophets, dead last. Even Harrison's ten points ahead of us."

Ethan and Anne shared a downcast look.

"So Danny asked his sister about it, she's a senior proctor," Kenny continued. "And she asked Bancroft. And he told her that Ethan had been docked 35 points yesterday and Anne 25 points. Of course, she wanted to know why."

Kenny paused for a moment as if waiting for a confession. As the two first-years said nothing, he spoke again.

"Seems Tiverton caught Ethan about to curse a student and that was ten points."

"But, Kenny, that was completely unfair!" Anne burst out. "Ethan had drawn his wand because Brocklebank was about to hex Peter Powles. Simon just put his wand away faster. There were loads of witnesses. Besides, Tiverton always favors his house anyway; he probably wouldn't have docked Brocklebank."

"I'm sure you're right, Anne," Kenny conceded. "And that wouldn't matter much, if it wasn't for the fact that the two of you were caught wandering around the castle destroying things after our match."

"We didn't destroy anything!" Ethan protested.

"I'm told a statue near the entrance to Tenskwatawa was practically vaporized," Kenny said, arching an eyebrow.

"We didn't do that!" Ethan argued. "Someone tried to kill us with that thing!"

"Think about it, Kenny!" Anne insisted. "We don't know any spells that could do that to a huge statue!"

"Well, Beadle and Tiverton found no evidence that anyone one else was in the vicinity," Kenny replied.

"Well, maybe that's because one of _them_ did it!" Ethan suggested.

Kenny raised his other eyebrow. "Well, I did find it odd that Beadle hadn't given you any detention for it. Not like him at all. Really though, Ethan, you may think Tiverton is up to something, but you can't prove it and nobody else would believe you. Which means the only thing that will matter to anyone is that you two lost us 60 house points. Not a very good way to call attention to yourselves."

Ethan felt worse, if it was possible, than he had when Beadle apprehended them the previous afternoon.

"I'm sorry, Kenny," he said quietly.

"I'm sorry, too," added Anne.

"Well, I don't blame you for being suspicious about Tiverton," Kenny said. "The only thing I have to say is that you'll have to be a lot more careful in future. If Tiverton really did try to kill you, he may try again."

"Kenny?" Anne asked tentatively.

"What is it?"

"When that statue was about to drop on top of us, someone spoke a spell that broke it to smithereens. Do you think it was Beadle?"

"I'd really doubt that, Anne," Kenny answered with a small smile. "Don't you know? Beadle's not really a proper wizard... got himself expelled way back before Flyte was head, after just a couple of years. He never learned the more advanced magic. Later, someone felt sorry for him and hired him back as Keeper and he's been taking it out on students ever since. So I doubt he could have done that kind of magic."

With that, Kenny ended the meeting. "All I can tell you is that you'd better keep your heads down the next few weeks. Nobody's going to be very happy with you."

Kenny was right. Nearly all the Bradburys eyed Ethan and Anne suspiciously and refused to associate with them. But Tim stuck by them. Since Tim was now one of the most popular Bradburys of any class, that carried weight. And since most all of the first-years had witnessed the wand incident with Brocklebank, they found it reasonable to believe that Tiverton was just looking for excuses to further punish Bradbury.

When word of the incident spread beyond Bradbury House, the reaction was less restrained. Of course, the Tenskwatawas were outraged that one of their house statues had been destroyed. They believed that Ethan had been looking for revenge for his earlier run-in with Simon Brocklebank.

"You messed with the wrong house, Lloyd," Brocklebank jeered in Potions on Monday morning. "We're going to make you wish you'd never set foot in this school!"

"He's just bluffing, Ethan," Tim whispered as Ethan flushed with anger and frustration. "The teachers won't want this to get out of hand. If anything happens to you, Brocklebank and his lot will be in even worse trouble than you."

"Will they?" Ethan wondered aloud.

The Harrisons and Titubas, if not completely hostile, looked upon Ethan and the Bradburys in general with suspicion. Ethan's latest predicament caused many to recall the _Daily Sentinel_ articles of the previous month.

Rumors spread that Ethan had planned to stage attacks on statues outside the Harrison and Tituba common-rooms too. Ethan himself knew this idea was not only false, but ridiculous, for he didn't even know where the other two houses' quarters were located. Unfortunately, many Harrison and Tituba students thought it quite likely.

Ethan was certain that Brocklebank or Katrina Powles had started that rumor. Another tale making the rounds had it that Ethan, his impressionable mind influenced by unstable parents, now believed that Voldemort himself had possessed the house statues of Kaaterskill.

For a week or more, Ethan had to be wary of Tenskwatawas waiting to ambush him. Several times he just avoided being hexed in the halls. Tim, Marcus and Kyle undertook to escort him between classes.

As time passed, however, everyone was forced to suspend hostilities so that they could finish their heavy load of school work. As their days filled with papers to write, potions to brew and tests to cram for, nobody had the energy to devote to inter-house squabbling.

Just when Ethan and his friends thought that they could do no more school work, the approach of Christmas vacation provided a glimmer of hope. The holidays would start on the Winter Solstice and end just after New Year's Day. Most of the student body would be heading down river to Hoboken and would then head to their own homes. Tim Van der Meulen and a few others had made arrangements to stay at Kaaterskill because they lived so far away from school. He would be the only Bradbury staying on, as far as Ethan knew.

One morning, a week or so before the solstice, the first-years were eating breakfast and speculating on what they might do over the holidays and what gifts they hoped for.

Marcus exclaimed, after consuming two Belgian waffles, "I'm hoping for my own Quicksilver XL, but I'm not sure Mom and Dad will go for it. And a Wizarding Wireless set for my room, so I don't have to listen to the Singing Sorceress all the time. And I want enough Jelly Slugs to get through spring term!"

"I'd settle for answers to all the spring term tests," Ethan offered as tried to eat breakfast and review his Potions and Herbology notes at the same time.

"I just can't wait to see the ocean again," said Anne fervently.

Tim sat quietly, finishing his cereal and tea. He'd explained that his parents were sending his presents to school, but Ethan could tell he was homesick already.

Just then, the owls flew in with the morning mail. One swooped over the Bradbury table and landed in front of Ethan, who quickly detached a letter. As the owl soared away, Ethan recognized his father's script on the address.

"Maybe they're sending along my tickets or something," he said to no one in particular.

"Oh, no, you'll get those from Bancroft," Anne said without looking up from her oatmeal.

Ethan opened the letter and began reading his father's words.

_Dear Ethan,_

_By now you must be almost done with the end of term exams. Soon you'll be able to relax a bit._

_Your mother and I have been talking over the holiday plans. With all that's going on in the world, we've decided--reluctantly--that it would be safer for you to stay at Kaaterskill during the break. We know you'll be disappointed, but you must trust our judgment._

_We've arranged with Uncle Bertrand to bring your presents to school on Christmas Eve. I do hope that some of your friends may also be staying on. _

_Please know that we will miss you and be thinking of you. We wouldn't do this without good reason, so please realize that this is for the best._

_Love,_

_Dad_

Ethan's countenance fell as he read the letter. When he was done he stared blankly at the parchment. Finally, Marcus interrupted him.

"What's wrong, Ethan? You look like you just ate a dozen tripe flavor beans!"

"They want me to stay here," Ethan answered dully. "They're making me stay at school over the holidays."

Anne and Marcus looked over the letter.

"Well, they say they've got a good reason," said Anne. "For some reason, they must think it's not safe for you to travel."

"Not safe? Why's it safe for everybody else and not for me?" Ethan asked bitterly. "And why can't they tell me?"

The others shook their heads. Only Tim looked cheerful. In fact, he looked as if a great weight had just been lifted from his shoulders.

"It won't be so bad!" he said brightly. "It's not as if you're the only one stuck here for Christmas!"

Try as he might, Ethan found he could not be angry with his friend. The look of relief on Tim's face drove away Ethan's disquiet, at least for that moment.

Next day, Ethan sent a post back to his parents. Although he wasn't looking forward to Christmas at school, even with Tim around, Ethan had decided not to plead with his parents. He was quite sure they wouldn't have decided to have him stay unless there was good reason. But he wondered what that reason might be and the question troubled him. He had tried to forget the incident aboard the Hoboken Limited, but this letter had brought that back.

He really hadn't much time to think about it, though, as the remaining days until the Solstice was filled with end-of-term exams. The tests varied as widely as the classes themselves, so there was no routine to the week.

Hsu had the students meditate for the first half, then write an essay on mental preparation for defending against dark magic.

Crockett had had his students keep journals about their plants during the term. As a final, each student made an oral presentation on the qualities and progress of their plants based on the journals. Ethan had nursed his _Mimulus Cupriphilus_ along week by week and it now looked quite healthy.

After Ethan finished his report, Crockett twisted his craggy face, as if straining to find something to criticize. Finally he said, "You're improving, Lloyd. But you've got a long way to go before you have enough _Mimulus_ there to help you face your worst fears!"

Ethan had feared the Herbology exam above all the others, so he considered Crockett's grudging praise a victory. Some students didn't fare as well. Edwin's Grasping Galardia had literally become a skeleton of its former self and Crockett was merciless in his assessment.

Tiverton set them five nails to transform into five different chess pieces. Again, Ethan did better than he'd expected. His bishop and knight were flawless, and the king was quite recognizable. His queen held something like a flounder in her hand instead of a sword. And his castle had a two-car garage attached. But he passed and on balance felt quite good about the result.

On the other hand, Tim succeeded on all the transfigurations except the knight, who wore a floppy hat and had a mule for a steed.

As art was an enrichment class, there was no end-of-term test. After the last class, Professor Skryme drew Ethan aside.

"You know, Mr. Lloyd," he said. "I hear that you'll be with us over the holidays. I expect that you'll be trying to forget schoolwork, but I'd encourage you to spend some time in the studio. Your portrait technique is already quite good, well beyond anyone your age that I've met--I know you won't let that go to your head! This would be a great chance to hone that talent a bit more without a lot of distraction."

"Sure, sir," Ethan replied. "I think I'd like that." He greatly enjoyed painting and felt that this might help keep him from dwelling on being stranded at the nearly-deserted school for the holidays.

"Excellent!" Skryme exclaimed, beaming at Ethan. "I'll look for you the day before Christmas Eve, then. And maybe after the holiday, too."

Ethan was pleased that Skryme had taken an interest in him. Ever since he'd overheard Tiverton threatening the art teacher, Ethan had been worried about him. Skryme had also seemed quite unnerved by the Sasquatch. Ethan also thought of the painter as something of a kindred spirit, just as new to Kaaterskill as Ethan himself. And he guessed that Tiverton wouldn't be likely to harass Skryme further in the presence of a student.

Later, Ethan asked Tim whether he'd come to the studio over break, too. But his friend seemed uninterested.

"You know how bad I am at art," he protested. "I'd better spend my time practicing quidditch."

"Well, you could just come and sit for me," Ethan offered. "If you do, I'll fly with you later."

"OK, that's a deal," Tim agreed.

As he finished the last few exams, Ethan could sense his schoolmates growing anticipation of their impending holiday freedom. And he found he couldn't avoid a feeling of emptiness, knowing that he wouldn't be sharing in that liberty.

And so, the solstice finally arrived on the mountain top, shrouding the school in gray cloud and snow flurries. Several inches of snow had fallen overnight.

Ethan and Tim watched as their roommates finished packing their trunks and prepared to take their leave.

"Might as well go and see them off," Tim suggested as Kyle, Marcus and Peter started toward the stairs.

"Yeah, I suppose so," Ethan agreed and so they all clambered down from Bradbury Tower. The main hallway was swarming with students eager to board the sleighs and head home for the holidays. As the boys joined the crowd, Ethan saw Anne Findlay waving to him from across the hall.

"Come on over, Ethan! You too, Tim!" she called.

The boys ambled over.

"All ready to go?" Tim asked. "Did you just want to rub in the fact that we're not going anywhere?"

"Don't be ridiculous!" Anne answered. "All I want to do is remind you...you should use all that free time you'll have to finally get some answers about...you-know-what."

"But we've looked everywhere, haven't we?" Ethan protested.

"Not in the Special Collections," Anne insisted smoothly. "If it's a powerful object that's being guarded, that's where you'll find books about it."

"But the only way to get into Special Collections is with a note from the House master," Tim said. "I can't see Bancroft letting us dig around, not after what he told Ethan."

"And Skryme wants me to spend my free time in the studio, painting," Ethan added.

"Where there's a will, there's a way," Anne said, as the line began to move. "Oh, and both of you...Happy Christmas!"

Just then, Simon Brocklebank sauntered past them. He glanced at Ethan and Tim and then told Lew Van Nort in a stage whisper, "It's _such_ a shame that some parents don't even want their children to come home for the holidays!"

They and several other Tenskwatawas guffawed and were gone before Ethan and Tim could react.

As Anne disappeared out the front door, she called, "Don't pay any attention to _them_! Remember, research!"

Kyle, Marcus and Peter were among the last to board a sleigh. Ethan and Tim followed them out the door.

"Have a great holiday, guys!" Tim said. They all shook hands.

Marcus told them as he climbed into the sleigh, "Merry Christmas! And try not to get into too much trouble while we're away!"

"Not too much!" Ethan echoed as he waved.

The sleighs glided away down the road towards the Landing. The two boys watched until the last one disappeared around the first corner, and then turned back towards the school.

Old Epaphras Beadle was helping Standish haul an enormous pine tree in through the entrance as the house masters watched. Professor Bancroft saw the boys and beckoned to them. They walked over to where he was standing next to the door.

"Well, boys, I know it wouldn't be your first choice," he said in a kindly voice. "But really Christmas at Kaaterskill isn't so bad. I wouldn't claim that the faculty is the best company imaginable, but you will see the school in a different light, that's certain!"

"Yes, sir," Ethan and Tim said together without conviction.

"Now, now, do try to get into the spirit, gentlemen!" Bancroft admonished them. "Perhaps you'd like to help with the decorations. I'm sure Mr. Beadle wouldn't mind the help."

"If you think so..." Ethan began. He'd been relieved to find that Beadle wasn't quite the ogre most students believed he was, but wasn't sure he wanted to spend the morning with him.

"Absolutely, Mr. Lloyd!" Bancroft continued cheerily. "In you go, now! Find Mr. Beadle in the Assembly Hall, he'll put you to good use. I'll check in on you in a bit!"

"Oh, _this _will take our minds off being left behind," Tim muttered as they headed down the main hall.

"It won't be that bad," Ethan said, surprised at his own optimism. "Beadle's not such a bad sort, you know...just don't tell him I told you that."

The sight that met Ethan and Tim when they walked in to the Assembly Hall was wondrous enough to make them forget all discontents for the moment. Six huge Christmas trees stood along the sides of the room. Beadle and Standish had just finished placing the final tree, the biggest of them all, where the faculty table usually stood at the far end of the room beneath the great windows. Indeed the hall had been completely refurnished since they'd had breakfast earlier that morning. The four long house tables were gone, replaced by several round tables near the center of the room. Real snow was falling from the enchanted ceiling, which was just as gray as the sky outside, only when the snow hit the floor it simply disappeared.

Ethan and Tim walked over to Standish and Beadle, who were admiring their handiwork. After a minute of awkward silence, Standish turned around and noticed the boys standing there.

"And what might you want?" the groundskeeper asked suspiciously.

"Umm, Professor Bancroft thought Mr. Beadle might want us to help him," Ethan said haltingly.

"Did he indeed?" Beadle said, one eyebrow arched. "Yes, I think I know what the two of you can do, Mr. Lloyd and Mr. Van der Meulen, is it?"

"Yes, sir," said Tim, who'd thus far managed to avoid meeting the feared Keeper of Buildings.

"Well, boys, see these greens?" Beadle pointed at a large pile of holly and mistletoe ropes. "We need to hang them along the walls on either side of the hall, from those hooks."

Beadle was gesturing towards a series of ornate hooks about a foot below the high ceiling in the Assembly Hall. Ethan had never noticed them before.

He and Tim looked stupidly from the greens to the hooks.

Then Tim asked, "Is there a ladder we can use?"

Standish guffawed. Beadle snorted, and then said derisively, "A ladder? I thought you boys were wizards!"

"Oh, yeah," Tim said sheepishly, his face now scarlet with embarrassment.

"Thought you'd have learned levitation by now," the Keeper of Buildings added.

Ethan had aimed his wand at the greens and said "_Wingardium Leviosa!_" before Beadle finished speaking. One end of a long rope of holly rose into the air. He began to walk it towards the wall.

"That's the spirit, Lloyd!" Beadle said. "Keep it rising, now!"

"Tim, you need to get the other end up," Ethan told his friend. "I can't do this properly by myself."

Tim cast the levitation spell at the other end of the holly rope. Ethan lifted one end over the first hook and then Tim placed the other end over the next. The holly was swagged perfectly between the hooks.

The boys continued with a rope of mistletoe, then another of holly. After half an hour, all the walls of the Assembly Hall were festooned with the greens.

"That's teamwork for you," said Beadle approvingly. "I daresay Professor O'Loughlin would be proud. Thanks for your help, boys! You can run along now. Stay out of trouble!"

Over the next few days, Ethan got used to the empty corridors and brilliant decorations that the holidays brought to Kaaterskill. The few students who'd stayed ate with the faculty at the round tables in the center of the Hall. It was a bit daunting trying to make casual conversation with Crockett or Renfro, let alone tall, gaunt Cyrus Flyte, who seemed even more intimidating to Ethan up close than he did when seen at the faculty table. Ethan was a bit more comfortable conversing with Bancroft or Hsu, but tried whenever possible to sit with Skryme. To Ethan's relief, Tiverton always seemed to gravitate to a different table.

At breakfast on Christmas Eve, Professor Bancroft sat down with Ethan and Tim. Over some excellent Eggs Benedict, he passed on some welcome news.

"In an hour or so, a wagon will be arriving from the Landing," Bancroft said. "I'm given to understand that it contains certain parcels from Saskatchewan, Mr. Van der Meulen, although you'll have to wait until Christmas to be sure."

"Cool, sir," Tim replied with a smile.

"And I believe your uncle is arriving as well, Mr. Lloyd," Bancroft added to Ethan. "He may have some packages as well. Once they've been tended to, he'd like to see you. Would you meet him in the Entry at 9:00, please?"

"Sure, I can't wait!" Ethan said quickly, forgetting entirely the ambivalence he'd always felt towards Bertrand and Eilonwy in Madison.

As the boys headed back to Bradbury Tower after breakfast, Tim asked, "Is he the one who you saw disapparate in your yard back when you were little?"

"Yeah, that's him" said Ethan wistfully. "Hey, I wonder how come he doesn't just apparate here. I suppose it might be difficult with all those presents."

"Ethan, I thought you were into history!" Tim chided his friend. "It says right in _Kaaterskill Chronicles_ that you can't apparate or disapparate from the school or the grounds. Bradbury himself set it up that way to keep unwanted visitors away."

"Hmm," Ethan replied absently.

"So are you going to introduce me to your uncle?" Tim asked.

"Sure, why not?" said Ethan.

So they spent an hour or so lounging in the common-room, Tim browsing through the _Daily Sentinel_ and Ethan flipping through some _Squibs Next Door_ comics that Marcus had left behind.

As the clock in the corner approached nine, Ethan sprang up from his chair before the fire and headed toward the door. Tim followed. A few minutes later they were standing at the reception desk, on which several small decorated fir trees rotated slowly, with real fairies fluttering around them.

As Ethan and Tim watched the turning trees, Ang Hsu walked slowly up to them.

"I see you are as fascinated by Professor O'Loughlin's work as I have always been," the wizened old wizard observed, eyes twinkling. "Happy Christmas Eve, boys."

"Happy Christmas Eve to you, Professor," Ethan said. "We're just waiting for my uncle to arrive."

"Ah, yes," Hsu said. "The good Mister Belanger. I too am waiting for his arrival."

"Oh, do you know Ethan's uncle?" Tim asked.

"We became acquainted many years ago," Hsu answered reflectively. "And many worlds away."

This answer intrigued Ethan, but before he could ask Hsu how he came to know Uncle Bertrand, the front door swung open.

In walked Uncle Bertrand himself, brushing snow off a forest-green robe with red trim. With his rotund form, grey hair and bright eyes, Ethan thought his uncle looked like some eccentric assistant to Saint Nicholas.

Beadle followed Bertrand part way into the entrance and looked at him expectantly while holding the door.

"Thank you, Beadle," Uncle Bertrand said. "And if you would take care of my parcels along with the others, I'd be much obliged...ah, Ethan, there you are!"

Beadle went back outside and the door swung shut. Ethan soon found himself enveloped in a bear hug.

"Good to see you, my boy!" Bertrand said as he stood back again. "Let's have a look at you now. You look good, lad! I trust you're well-used to dear old Kaaterskill by now!"

"I think so, Uncle Bertrand," Ethan replied. "But every time I think I know the place, something new pops up."

"Ah, yes, Mr. Lloyd," Hsu interjected. "You will find that to be true no matter how long you are here. Why only last week I found myself in a beautiful room I'd never seen before near the observatory. Perfectly set up for evening meditation. I only hope I can find it again."

"Ang Hsu!" Bertrand exclaimed as he saw the Defense against the Dark Arts professor. "You got my message!"

"Indeed, Bertrand, I did!" Hsu answered. "You look well, my old friend."

"As well as I expect I can," Bertrand allowed, "given my age and experience. You look the same as ever."

"I don't know whether that is a compliment or not," Ang Hsu said with a chuckle, "given _my_ age and experience.

Tim had been standing apart, observing the reunions. Now Uncle Bertrand noticed him and spoke again.

"And this must be a fellow Bradbury, eh, Ethan?" he said. "Bertrand Belanger, most pleased to meet you."

"Tim Van der Meulen, sir," Tim answered, as Bertrand vigourously shook his hand. "Glad to meet you."

"Ah, yes, I believe that Ethan's parents have mentioned your name," Bertrand said. "From somewhere way out West, right? And quite a Quidditch player already."

"Yes, I'm from Saskatchewan," Tim answered, blushing a bit at the mention of Quidditch.

"Well, now that Mr. Beadle has the packages taken care of," Bertrand said with a wink at the boys. "Why don't we go up to your common-room for a bit? Ang Hsu, will luncheon work for you as I suggested?"

"But of course, my friend. Shall we meet here at noon?"

"I will see you then! Lead on, Ethan," Uncle Bertrand said. "It's been a long time since I visited Bradbury Tower."

"Were you in Bradbury, then, Mr. Belanger?" Tim asked as they worked their way back along the corridors.

"Oh, yes," Bertrand said. "That's how I met Eilonwy...Ethan's great-aunt. All the Lloyds have been in Bradbury for ages."

"So you knew which house I'd be in before I did?" Ethan asked curiously.

"Well, one never knows for sure," Bertrand continued. "Until the dowsing rod's gotten a good feel for you. But any other house would have been something of a shock!"

Once in the common room, they sat down around the fireplace and chatted casually for a while.

"So I hear you're making History and Art your specialties, eh, Ethan?" Bertrand asked.

"Ah, yeah, I really enjoy History," Ethan allowed.

"And he's the best artist in the school already," Tim added, making Ethan blush. "Professor Skryme said so himself."

"Charms coming along well, I hope?" Bertrand continued. "And Defense Against the Dark Arts?"

"I like both of them," Ethan answered. "Even though I can't always tell what Professor Hsu is driving at."

"You may not understand that until you have need to use what you've learned," his great-uncle told him. "Generations of wizards have been confused by Ang Hsu, only to find they owed him their lives later on."

"Well, I'd rather have double Dark Arts and skip Herbology and Potions altogether," Ethan volunteered.

"Hmmm," Bertrand sighed disapprovingly. "Don't ignore those classes, Ethan. They'll really help you in life, you know."

"Well, it's just that the professors are really hard, especially on me," Ethan explained. "Crockett's been dead set against me from the first day of class, seems to have some old grudge against Dad, really."

"Crockett's a good teacher, Ethan," Bertrand insisted. "Has his faults, I'm sure. But he knows his stuff. What you take away from his class...and Potions...could well save your life too."

Bertrand's comment reminded Ethan of the question that had nagged him since his parents had written to tell him he'd have to stay at school for the holidays.

"Uncle Bertrand," he began. "All this talk about this class or that saving my life...and Mom and Dad not wanting me to come home right now. Well, I can't help wondering what it's all about. You're all making me feel like I'm walking around with a target on my back and I don't know why."

At this, Tim shifted uncomfortably in his chair and got up.

"Would either of you like some tea?" he asked. "I think I'll go get some."

"Yes, Tim, that would be nice," Bertrand said. "And maybe some biscuits. I seem to recall some excellent Christmas biscuits at Kaaterskill in my day."

"Just some tea for me, Tim," Ethan added.

As Tim left to fetch the tea, Bertrand turned to his great-great-nephew with a look Ethan could not read. Was it pity, compassion, pride or some combination? The look passed in an instant, replaced by Bertrand's normal placid, bemused expression.

"Ethan, you know your parents love you more than anything in this world," he said quietly. "They sacrificed nearly everything when they settled in the muggle world and they stayed in Madison mainly because they wanted to keep you safe. I'm sure they secretly hoped you'd be a squib--that you wouldn't inherit their magical talent--so that you'd never have to enter our world."

"I never really thought about it that way," Ethan said, thinking back to the conversations he'd overheard on his birthday.

"When your letter came last summer, it was a surprise to you, of course," Bertrand continued, looking Ethan in the eye. "But for your parents...well, they saw all their hopes unraveling."

"You mean they don't really want me here?" Ethan asked. "I'm confused."

"No, no, don't misunderstand me," Bertrand said, again looking straight at Ethan. "All parents have to let go of their children sooner or later. Your parents knew in their hearts that going to Kaaterskill was the best thing for you, the only way really for you to learn what you need to know."

"But _what_ do I need to know?" Ethan insisted. "How to levitate teacups? How to change a nail into a chess piece? There must be more to it than that!"

"Well, of course there is," Bertrand replied. "Though I daresay you may find those skills come in handy some day. If you think hard, perhaps you can already remember such an occasion. I seem to recall hearing that you had an interview with a Sasquatch a couple of months ago."

"Oh, yeah," Ethan said, somewhat taken aback. "But that was a fluke, after all. And it was my friend Anne who knocked him out."

"Fluke or no, you and your friends knew enough magic to escape your predicament," Bertrand remarked. "You must understand, Ethan, that _everything_ you learn at Kaaterskill is important. Each lesson builds on the last and provides the foundation for the next. And even the simplest spell--cast by the least skillful wizard--may cast down the powerful in the end."

"Well, you're probably right," Ethan conceded. "But that doesn't tell me why it would be dangerous for me to go home. Don't you know?"

"No, my dear boy," Bertrand said thoughtfully. "I can tell you about what dangers lurk out there for young wizards generally, but I'm not privy to your parents' reasoning."

"They must have said something!" Ethan insisted. "Can't you give me just a hint?"

"No, I'm afraid not, Ethan," Bertrand answered. "I have always made it my practice not to know more than I need to, especially when Cyrus Flyte is involved."

"Flyte?" Ethan's eyes flashed. "You mean he told my parents I shouldn't go home."

"Now I don't know that, certainly not," Bertrand said, looking flustered for a moment. "Professor Flyte is your headmaster, so of course your parents communicated with him about their plans."

Tim returned with a pot of tea, three cups and a plate of biscuits that looked so delicious Ethan had several after all. Try as he might, he couldn't get Bertrand to tell him anything more. As noon approached, Bertrand excused himself to go meet Ang Hsu for lunch.

"I'm afraid I must be off down the mountain as soon as we're through with lunch," he told Ethan. "So I'll wish you a Merry Christmas, lads!"

Ethan had enjoyed Bertrand's company, despite his inability to pry information from his great-uncle. He was loath to see him leave so soon.

"I wish you could stay longer," he averred as Bertrand gave him a hug.

"As do I, my boy," Bertrand answered. "Alas, I cannot, for another errand awaits me at day's end, many miles from here. I'll pass your greetings on to your parents when I see them. Good to meet you, Mr. Van der Meulen! I trust you'll be a good influence on our Ethan here!"

"I'll do my best," Tim replied stoutly, shaking Bertrand's hand.

And with that, Bertrand went out the portrait-door and was gone, leaving Ethan muttering to himself.

"Why wouldn't he tell me more?" he said. "He knew about the Sasquatch, but I never told Mom and Dad about that. Flyte must have told my parents something, but what?"

"Ethan, let it go for now," Tim said as he stood behind him. "It's Christmas Eve! We're warm, we're safe and we've got the whole place to ourselves! Let's try to enjoy it while we can."

"OK, I'll try," Ethan agreed, and it didn't prove too hard. They played some wizard chess, at which Tim had improved considerably more than Ethan over the fall term. After lunch, they headed to the painting studio, where Ethan had begun working on a full-length portrait of his friend. Professor Skryme was nowhere to be found, but the door was open, so Tim sat patiently as Ethan painted for an hour or so.

When the boys turned in for the evening, they lay awake for sometime, speculating on the presents that had arrived with Uncle Bertrand that morning. Ethan finally drifted off to sleep, dreaming of brightly wrapped packages and the Christmas feast. He awoke briefly, sure he'd heard the tinkling of bells somewhere nearby, but soon snored again.

Christmas morning dawned bright and sunny. When Ethan peeked out between the bed curtains, Tim greeted him.

"Merry Christmas, Ethan! Look here! Presents!"

Ethan looked and saw a fairly large pile of presents at the end of his bed and another next to Tim's. He hurriedly pulled on his bathrobe and scrambled out to get a better look. Hanging from the mantel across the room were two enormous stockings labeled "Ethan" and "Tim."

"Merry Christmas, Tim!" he answered with a yawn, still gawking at the gifts.

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Tim asked. "It's just us, after all."

Ethan agreed heartily, so the two boys waded into their respective piles and began unwrapping.

Tim's older brother Marvin had sent him a football autographed by the Saskatchewan Roughriders.

"Now you'll really have to explain football to Anne and Marcus," Ethan told him.

Ethan's first present was a box of goat milk fudge from Professor Bancroft.

"Guess he noticed how much I liked it."

Pete Abrams had sent him a book on the history of the X-Men.

Tim giggled as he unwrapped a package from his parents.

"I already know what this is," he said. "Mom makes one every year for each of us."

Ethan watched as Tim held up a burgundy woolen hat with a large pompom on the top. Tim's name was emblazoned across the front in silver.

"Does she always knit them in Bradbury colors?" Ethan asked.

"No, I wonder how she knew," Tim mused. "I don't think I've told her."

"Hey, I've got something from your folks, too," Ethan said, surprised, as he picked up the next box in his pile. "It's a hat just like yours!"

Indeed it was, but with the name "Ethan" across the front.

"I did tell her in my last letter that you'd be here too," Tim said. "So she must have decided you'd need a Van der Meulen tuque."

Ethan's next gift was from Uncle Bertrand and Aunt Eilonwy. It was an ornately painted wooden box marked "_Special Collector's Edition: Fifty Famous Wizards of the Americas_." The fifty cards inside featured a picture and biography of American wizards of the previous two millennia.

Tim was delighted with the present Ethan had gotten him, an illustrated book called _Those Magnificent Meteors: a History of the Moose Jaw Quidditch Club, 1875-1995_. And Ethan was quite pleased with the case of magical paints and brushes that Tim had found for him.

"These'll be much better than the school's old stuff," he said enthusiastically

Finally, there was one very large pile of torn wrapping, bows and ribbons in the middle of the room and just one present left. It was a small box labeled "For Ethan, with love from Mom and Dad." He'd already gotten a sweater, a wand care kit and an Exploding Snap game from his parents.

"I wonder what else they sent," he wondered out loud. As he picked up the box, he heard the contents shifting within.

Tim, who'd already unwrapped his last gift, looked on curiously as Ethan carefully removed the paper and revealed an unadorned brown cardboard box. Ethan took off the lid and removed a folded piece of parchment. He opened and read the note aloud.

"Dear Ethan,

This is an old Lloyd heirloom. It has served your father well, but you will probably put it to better use now and in the future. It has unusual properties, which we will leave to you to discover. One thing you should know: you should use it sparingly and in times of real need. Frivolous use may make one dependent on its powers. Use it wisely and use it well.

Love, Mom and Dad"

Wide-eyed, Ethan looked into the box and lifted the object that had been beneath the note. It was a small stone, oval in shape, not more than two inches long. Etched in the center of the stone was a sun, mostly obscured by clouds. A hole had been drilled near one end of the stone and a long chain of finely wrought silver rings run through.

Ethan held the stone in his left hand, looking at the etching and letting the chain run through his right hand. When he looked up, he saw Tim staring at the stone in wonder.

"It's some kind of amulet, isn't it?" Ethan asked. "I wonder what it's for."

"Well, put it on," Tim urged. "How else are you going to find out?"

"Dunno, you think I should?" Ethan asked.

"Oh, go ahead. Putting it on to find out its purpose isn't frivolous, is it?"

"OK, here goes," Ethan said as he slid the chain around his neck. He it hang down its full length, so that the stone was nearly at his waist. "Hmm, nothing seems to be happ..."

"Ethan! Where are you?" Tim said, looking around wildly. "Where'd you go?"

"What do you mean, Tim? I haven't moved."

"Then I can tell you what that stone does," Tim answered, reaching his arm out and poking Ethan in the ribs.

"Oww! What do you mean?"

"You're invisible, Ethan."

"Don't be silly," Ethan answered, holding his right arm up in front of him. "I can see myself just fine."

"Come over here and look in the mirror then," Tim insisted.

When Ethan stood in front of the mirror on the back of the dorm door, he gaped. He could see Tim, but there was no sign that he was standing there himself. He held up his arm again. He could see it in front of him, but not in the mirror.

"Cool!" Ethan and Tim both exclaimed.

"Think of the things I could do with this," Ethan said, slipping the amulet off and reappearing in the mirror. "I could really mess with Brocklebank's mind."

"Yeah," Tim said. "Of course that assumes he has a mind worth messing up. Didn't the note say not to use it unless you really need to?"

"Umm, yeah, it did," Ethan conceded. "But what do Mom and Dad think _I_ need it for?"

"Maybe you have to discover that on your own, too," Tim suggested.

Ethan placed the amulet back in the box and stowed it in his trunk at the end of the bed. He and Tim headed down for a leisurely Christmas breakfast and then spent the day emptying their stockings, which were filled with fruits, nuts and all sorts of unusual sweets. They played several rounds of Exploding Snap, Ethan examined his wizard card set and Tim read about the Moose Jaw Meteors, while watching highlights of the club's history.

Ethan had never seen such a feast as Christmas dinner at Kaaterskill. The main course was an enormous roast goose, with every imaginable accompaniment, large flagons of butterbeer and cranberry shrub, and a magnificent array of pies and puddings for dessert. Everyone at the table had a large Christmas cracker to open. As each popped, magical fireworks shot up towards the ceiling and a magical (if silly looking) crown flew up and landed on the recipient's head. Even Cyrus Flyte looked a bit less forbidding with a pink crown hung over his wizard's hat at a crazy angle.

It was nearly eleven when Tim and Ethan staggered up to Bradbury Tower. Ethan had to admit that this Christmas had been unlike any he'd ever experienced--and maybe better, too. As he pulled his covers around him, he wondered again about the amulet's purpose, but within minutes sleep took him and he slept untroubled until morning.


	14. The Vases of Artephius

_Chapter Fourteen_

_The Vases of Artephius_

The day after Christmas, the morning sunlight shone dully through high clouds. No one rose early at Kaaterskill that day, least of all Ethan and Tim. Nine o'clock had come and gone before they had arisen and headed down to the Assembly Hall, sure that they had missed breakfast. Professor Bancroft and Professor Skryme were on their way out of the hall, which seemed to confirm their fears.

Bancroft disabused them of this notion with a merry smile and a wave of his hand.

"Go on in, boys, tuck in now. Don't try to get away with this during the term, though!"

He and Skryme laughed. The art teacher added, "And don't forget to come up to the studio afterwards, Mr. Lloyd! I noticed you've done some good work on Mr. Van der Meulen's portrait. Why don't you try a bit more today?"

An hour later, after a most filling breakfast, Ethan persuaded Tim to return to the painting studio. Professor Skryme greeted them. He gave Ethan a few pointers and and then moved over to the far end of the studio to work on the largest canvas Ethan had ever seen.

The size of Skryme's new painting distracted Ethan from his own work and he wandered over to have a look. It appeared to be a landscape, for along the left edge the art teacher had painted a number of tall maple trees.

"Wow!" Ethan exclaimed. "That's going to be huge! What's it going to be professor?"

"Well, I'm better known for my portraits, it's true," Skryme explained. "But spending so much time here in the mountains, I just had to try to capture the environs of Kaaterskill. I had done some sketches of the forest...I believe you students call them 'Spook Woods'--at night. I thought I'd work them up into a painting at last."

"You were out there at night?" Ethan said, impressed. "They _are_ haunted, aren't they?"

"Well of course," Skryme said in a dismissive tone, though Ethan thought he looked a bit uncomfortable. "Then again, so is the school building itself, after all. It wasn't that bad, really."

Ethan tried to work on his painting of Tim, but there were too many thoughts bouncing around in his mind to concentrate properly. Uncle Bertrand's visit, the amulet and somehow Skryme's dark new landscape all pushed his own work aside.

"Hey, it's lunch time anyway," Tim said. "And we can go flying afterwards, before the storm arrives."

At lunch, the enchanted ceiling of the Assembly Hall was already looking threatening. The midday sun no longer peeked out of the gray clouds.

The boys hurried out to the locker room after lunch, got their brooms and a quaffle and took turns playing chaser and keeper. It got cold quickly up in the air but kept up the play until after three.

Tim was ready to head back in to school quickly, but Ethan dawdled. He was thinking about his parents and wondering what they really thought about his presence at Kaaterskill.

"I'll catch up with you," Ethan said, but when he did step out of the locker rooms, for some reason he turned away from the school and walked instead in the other direction, lost in thought.

Dark clouds scudded menacingly from the West. Ethan could already see the snow falling in the distance. Not knowing what impulse pushed him on, he turned toward the lake instead of back towards the school building. The strange little castle in the middle of the lake stood out against the darker sky as he approached.

At the edge of the lake, Ethan stopped. He tested the ice, first with one foot, then the other. Satisfied that he would not fall through, he carefully walked out towards the castle's entrance. Soon he had climbed the four steps up to the large doorway. Ethan looked up the tower, which appeared taller now that he was so close. In one of the topmost windows, he was certain he saw a flicker of light.

Ethan still didn't understand why he wanted to enter the castle, but there was no doubt in his mind that he did desire just that. Any uncertainty that remained vanished as the wind whipped him with the first icy pellets of snow. He took out his wand, but decided to try the ornate iron door handle first. To his surprise, it swung in without much effort.

Torches blazed up along the stone walls of the small entry hall as Ethan stepped in. He closed the door behind him. As the latch clicked loudly, he almost immediately wished he hadn't.

The room was unfurnished save for the torches. Three steps led up to another room opposite the doorway. Ethan could see the beginning of a stairway there, still in darkness.

He hesitated, but decided there was nothing for it but to go on. As he moved quietly up into the stair hall, more torches lit up around and above him. He looked up the stairway, which wound around the outside of the tower, but couldn't see to the top. Ethan stood as still as could be at the foot of the stairs. He could hear the wintry wind gusting around the castle; inside he heard only the rhythmic sound of his own breathing.

Finally, up the stairs he went. He counted the steps as he went up--25, 50, 75, 100 and more, then he lost track. Every dozen steps or so another torch on the wall blazed up as he approached.

The shimmering light of the torches enlarged his shadow to a ridiculous size against the opposite wall. In an odd way, Ethan drew courage from his looming shadow. He imagined himself an immense--and courageous--warrior storming hidden enemies. But as Ethan climbed, neither doughty swordsmen nor skilful wizards jumped out to challenge him. He was alone in the tower.

After what seemed like ages, but could not in fact have been more than a few minutes, Ethan reached the top of the stairs. Before him, another door of stout oak with elaborate iron strapping blocked the way. He grasped the doorknob and turned it. The door swung in and Ethan stepped into a small chamber.

A fire burned merrily in a fireplace along the wall to Ethan's right. His eyes took a few moments to adjust to the brightness of the room. Small rectangular windows on the other three walls admitted the dim winter afternoon light. Torches flanked each window and a chandelier hung down from the high peak of the ceiling.

The room could not have been larger than eight feet square. It lacked any furnishing, save for a rectangular stone table in its center.

Ethan moved into the room, to the left of the table. He glanced out the window, but could make out nothing but masses of snowflakes blown past on gusts of wind. He turned and looked curiously at the stone table.

On the table sat three vessels, all of the same design but each made of a different material. They were cylindrical at the base and about six inches high. They flared out much wider towards the top with a short vertical rim.

The vessel to Ethan's left was made of reddish clay; the shiny glazed surface reflected the firelight. The one at the center appeared to be copper, while the one to the right was of a luminous blue glass.

Ethan could see that each vessel was filled nearly to its wide brim with a different liquid. The clay vessel seemed to be filled with an aromatic oil of some sort. Red wine appeared to fill the copper vessel, while the glass vessel was full of clear water.

A few verses had been carved into the top of the stone table, in front of the copper vase. Ethan read them aloud:

"_Well met, brave venturer,  
the vases of wise Artephius thou hast found_

_What was, what is, what may yet be,  
here all of these the bold may see._

_Make your choice, take your chance,  
wave your wand but make no sound ;_

_thus gift of sight shall come to thee,  
though none can say what thou wilt see._

_This you must know, ere you begin,  
the work of the vases is thus within:_

_the past belongs to vase of earth,  
in oil of myrrh reveal its worth;_

_in vase of copper in reddest wine,  
may be seen the present time;_

_clearest water in vase of glass  
will show what may yet come to pass._

_Some may find their hearts desire,  
others deep despair;_

_So will you dare and risk the danger  
or leave unchanged, a doubtful stranger?"_

Ethan read the verses, then read them again. It seemed obvious enough that the three vases were meant to show past, present and future. _But whose past, present and future? _ he wondered. _And how? "Wave your wand but make no sound"..._ The line seemed vague; Ethan was used to more definite direction, matching the words of a spell with a specific wand movement.

_Maybe you have to know how to move the wand before you come up here_, he thought. _Probably a good way to keep people who shouldn't be here...like me...from messing around_.

Still, it seemed a pity to Ethan to have climbed all the way up the tower for nothing. He looked the vases over carefully and considered what he would want to know if he _could_ use the vases.

_Looking backwards might be good_, he thought. _There's still so much I don't know about my own family. _

Ethan looked over the glass vase that could show the future. The water within the vase twinkled in the torchlight. It was beautiful but Ethan inexplicably grew tense as he gazed at it.

_All right, the present then_, he concluded. _That should be safe enough_. _Not that I'll be able to do it, anyway._

He stood right in front of the copper vase and raised his wand. The wind howled outside the tower. The fire light flickered for just a moment; the entire room seemed to glow. Ethan felt his wand arm moving in a circular motion, although he did not feel as if he was moving.

The reddish liquid in the copper vase seemed to be boiling. Ethan suddenly felt himself pulled down towards it, stopping with his face just an inch or so from the surface.

At first, Ethan saw nothing but the bubbling wine. Then, to his amazement, the surface cleared and a picture came into focus. _What is it_? Ethan wondered. _The common-room, that's it...there's Tim!_ His classmate was seated in an armchair in front of the fire, dozing with a book open in his lap.

The image faded and another took its place. The Assembly Hall stood empty, the magnificently enchanted evergreens lining the walls. Next an office came into view, textbooks strewn over a desk and bulging from an old bookcase. _Who's that at the desk?_ Ethan strained to see. _Professor Tiverton, what's he up to? _ The transfiguration teacher was poring over some documents; he did not look pleased at all. That room faded and when the picture cleared again, Ethan saw the familiar art studio. Professor Skryme was there, working before an extremely wide canvas. Ethan could just make out the preliminary sketch of a forest scene.

Ethan was amazed at the thought of being able to see what was going on all over Kaaterskill from up in the Tower. But what he saw next astounded him.

For as the wine's surface cleared again, there was his family's house in Madison. _They don't have as much snow there_, Ethan thought. He recognized Pete and Justin throwing snowballs in the Abrams' backyard. Then the picture moved right into the house. A small Christmas tree was in the living room window. He could see the card he'd sent displayed in the branches. And there were his mother and father sitting close together on the couch. When he looked more closely, they didn't seem very happy. In fact, Ethan was sure he could make out tears in his mother's eyes.

"Mom, what's wrong?" he said out loud and his voice echoed through the tower. He looked around self-consciously, then thought to himself, _Of course they can't hear me_.

When he looked back, the surface of the wine was changing again. This time he saw a place he didn't recognize, a high-ceilinged room darkened except for a low fire that barely lit a long table with carved chairs all around. At one end of the table stood a tall man, mostly in shadows. But Ethan could make out his eyes, reflecting red in the dim firelight. The man's eyes were frightening yet Ethan could not prevent himself from staring at him. In fact, a feeling overtook Ethan that the red eyes were searching for something or someone. _Yes, searching for someone...searching for me!_ Ethan suddenly thought and a sensation of panic broke over him. The man strode towards Ethan, red eyes unblinking. As he approached, Ethan knew in his heart that he did not want to be found. He jerked his head away from the vase and staggered back to the wall, gasping and shivering.

Ethan stood stock still for several minutes. When he looked over at the table, the surface of the wine was placid, as if the vision had not happened.

Ethan had made up his mind to leave the tower when he noticed something strange happening to the table. As if an unseen hand was at work, glowing green letters appeared on the flat surface in front of the red clay jar. Ethan stepped back towards the table and read:

_If the present view did not suit,  
See if the past yields fairer fruit._

_Oh, all right!_ Ethan thought, _Why not? The past can't hurt me, after all. It's over and done...there's nothing it can do to me now._

He stepped up in front of the clay vase and raised his wand as before. Again, the wand seemed to move of its own accord, up and then in a straight line from right to left. The room brightened again and the fragrant oil in the vase began to move in waves back and forth. Ethan allowed himself to be drawn down towards the vase.

Suddenly the surface of the vase became as glassy as a calm sea. Bits of scenes passed quickly before Ethan's eyes. _Whose past?_ he asked himself. _Mine? or someone else's?_ He strained to pick out details in the swiftly moving pictures. Occasionally he recognized the image: there he was with the dowsing rod in his hands; here he saw himself with Tim looking through their ransacked belongings on the _Hoboken Limited_; the light standard crashed to the ground at the ballpark again before his amazed eyes. The mirror kept moving, as if it was flipping the pages of an endless book. A few moments later, Ethan saw a small, bespectacled, blonde boy being dropped off at the door of a kindergarten classroom, looking scared; then the same boy at snack time, knocking over a pitcher of juice only to have the pitcher fly back up onto the table without spilling. Ethan chuckled, for he recognized the boy and remembered the near-accident. _But this could all be in my own memory,_ Ethan thought, a bit miffed at the mirror. _ Tell me something I don't know already!_

At this, the mirror sped up and the passing images were nothing but a blur. Briefly he thought he saw his Uncle Bertrand and Aunt Eilonwy appearing on his parents' doorstep on a warm summer evening, but the mirror passed them by quickly. Not long after, the entire mirror was filled with a blazing green light. Ethan thought he glimpsed a frightened baby with green eyes, but the image changed too quickly to be sure.

The mirror had turned completely black, or so it seemed at first. But Ethan began to see pinpricks of light--_Stars?_ he wondered. _Must be, there's the moon, but what is this place?_

The mirror didn't seem to be moving backwards in time anymore. Instead, it allowed Ethan to look back and forth. _It must be a mountain top; there are a few lights way down in the valley. It must be very high; I can't see any trees at all._

With this thought in his mind, Ethan began to pay very close attention to the mirror, for he thought he could put a name to the high, treeless mountain top.

As his eyes grew more used to the darkness, Ethan could discern more detail in the vase's picture. Moonlight illuminated a flat landscape at the foot of the mountain and in the distance a seemingly endless expanse of water. Ethan guessed it was the ocean.

_But there's nobody here_, he said to himself. _Nothing's happening_.

But as he continued to gaze into the vase, he realized something _was_ happening. Or rather, many things.

He could now make out dim figures--a dozen or more--standing in a circle at the very center of the mountain top. They'd been hard to see, thought Ethan, because they were all wearing dark robes, their faces hooded. But now one of their number, taller than the others, had thrown back his hood and raised a wand with his right hand, its lit tip revealing a face that Ethan knew he'd seen before. If only he could think where...

But before he could recall, Ethan saw something happening. The ground began to glow, at first faintly, then gradually more intensely. Now the hooded figures were illuminated, though their faces were still difficult to perceive. The tall, unhooded man raised both his arms, still directing his wand at the center of the circle, which glowed white hot. Ethan was sure the tall man was holding something in his left hand as well, hidden from view. Flames flickered over the mountain's rocky top now. As the fire grew higher, Ethan imagined that the mountain top itself was rising.

But it was not the mountain rising; rather, something huge was emerging from within the mountain. A fiery core issued from the surface, towering at least five times the height of a man. Ethan shielded his eyes from the bright orange mass and noticed that the hooded figures that surrounded it had done the same. Something else was rising around the core, something like a massive dark shadow, something that rose to the same height and shrouded the flames. Either the dark sheath was translucent or the fire within was so intense that its glow was visible through the shadow. Over the surface of the shroud, bolts of flame flickered.

_What on earth is that?_ Ethan thought, awestruck by the enormous column of flame and shadow. He wondered whether the wizards on the mountain top had loosed a sleeping volcano. But somehow he felt that the mass was a living thing, not merely molten rock and ash.

Ethan's hunch seemed confirmed in the next instant, as two huge arms snapped out and then the base split into two huge legs. Finally something like a head emerged from the top of the column. Ethan could make out two fiery points where eyes should have been, a nose that appeared to breath flame, and a mouth with corners turned up in a savage smile.

The figures around the gigantic creature had now all raised their arms. The vase conveyed no sounds, but Ethan was certain that they had joined in a triumphant cry of welcome.

The vase now began to focus on the circle of wizards. Ethan could now begin to make out their faces. He'd already guessed that they were Death Eaters, dark wizards and supporters of Voldemort. He supposed that such men must have been vicious and evil. Yet he saw nothing out of the ordinary in these faces. As he considered the scene, Ethan decided that the tall wizard whose spell had freed the creature had to be Hafgan himself. _But Bancroft said that Hafgan hadn't been at Table Mountain,_ Ethan thought briefly.

As the creature flexed its newly-formed limbs, bolts of flame ran along its body and radiated out towards the wizards. And as they did, the faces began to change. Eyes narrowed, nostrils flared, the wizards opened their mouths and cried out in words Ethan could not hear. As they did, their faces contorted in anger so powerful that Ethan could feel it without hearing their yells. And there was another emotion underlying the anger, an emotion that flowed out from the creature and throbbed through the circle of wizards. They were beyond anger now. An unthinking hatred filled their faces and again Ethan could feel the emotion flowing right out of the vase, washing over him, pulling him into the circle. Ethan had never before known such a rage. He felt a strong urge to smash, destroy, even to kill, but some part of him, deep inside, still resisted the hate he felt. So he continued to watch the vase, fists clenched, and he saw the wizards began to turn on one another.

Ethan had trouble focusing on the vase, so powerful were the emotions within him. He struggled to see what was happening. The tall unhooded wizard had stepped away from the circle. Clearly he had not expected this turn of events. Although not possessed by the hatred that consumed his companions, his face was etched with surprise and fear.

Suddenly, Ethan saw about a dozen men and women simply appear out thin air, some distance behind the tall wizard, who spied them as he began to turn away from the circle. He raised his wand as he approached and a jet of green light shot out, striking the leader of the newcomers, who immediately keeled over and lay still.

_Aurors!_ Ethan thought, overcoming his anger and hate as the vase turned away from the creature for a time. One of the newcomers cast a spell that shot a red light towards the tall wizard. It struck him on the right hand and Ethan could see something round and shiny fall from his grip and bounce away.

Now the tall wizard looked quickly back at the circle, where the creature still raged and his comrades were battling each other, oblivious to the arrival of the others. Then the creature, a sinister smile on its face began to move towards the tall wizard.

The aurors held back, apparently awed by the vision before them. With a look of fierce desperation, the tall wizard turned from the creature to his new foes, then stood straight up and vanished from the mountain top.

The newcomers rushed forward. One man bent down to pick something up. Then they all realized that the creature had continued its approach. Its red glow came closer and closer, finally blotting out Ethan's vision completely. As it did, Ethan felt as if his body would split from the renewed swell of hate and anger within him. He staggered back from the vase and collapsed to the floor.

Ethan awoke to the rough cold of the stone floor against his face. He cast a blurry glance around him; his glasses had come off when he fell. He groped for them blindly and by luck found them at the very top of the staircase. He quickly put them on, very glad that they hadn't fallen down the stairs.

The room looked just as it had when he'd entered. Ethan had no idea how long he'd lain on the floor. He scrambled to his feet and looked uncertainly at the table. The oil in the clay vase was clear, no sign visible of the turmoil Ethan had seen within.

As he was about to turn to head back down the stairs, a glint of silver appeared on the table top before the glass vase. As if an unseen quill was moving across the surface, silvery words now appeared.

_What has passed can't be wiped clean;  
Today stands on the shoulders of time gone by.  
Tomorrow's a mystery yet to be gleaned;  
Water will show where the path may lie,  
Yet have a care lest ye go astray._

Ethan read the words that shone on the table and felt himself mightily torn between two desires. He desperately wanted to gaze into the clear water. _After all_, he thought, _if I'd only asked the right questions, my parents could have told me all that the mirror showed of Table Mountain._ And the mirror's view of the present now seemed to him merely a neat form of telepathy. But to see the future, to see what he, Ethan, would do in the world and yes, to know whether Hafgan would be thwarted in his plans, now that would be worth all he'd learned of yesterday and today.

And yet, two forces kept Ethan from turning his eyes to the contents of the glass vase. He had never felt so fatigued in his life. His looks into the present and future seemed to have drained him of nearly all his strength. Even as Ethan's mind raced to consider all that he wanted to know about the future, another voice within said, _Not now, please. Let me rest!_

And in his heart, Ethan felt a foreboding greater than that he'd experienced when he'd seen the dark, windswept summit of Table Mountain and he knew a fear stronger than that he'd felt when the tall man had been searching for him with those frightening red eyes.

He knew what he had to do. He turned to the stairs and began to walk down the tower. He dragged one foot at a time, step by step, fighting both his physical exhaustion and the still-strong desire to see the future. As he descended, the torches above him flickered out, one by one. Finally he reached the little room at the base of the tower and here he seemed to regain his strength and willpower. He reached for the door, pulled the iron handle towards him and stepped outside. The storm had abated. Gentle snow flurries swirled around him as he walked back across the frozen lake. Within minutes, he'd reached the front door of Kaaterskill. In he went, back into the brightly lit entrance hall.

As Ethan walked down the corridor from the entrance, he glanced at his watch, then looked at it again in disbelief. For it seemed to him that he'd been in the tower on the lake for hours, yet his watch said it had been just one hour since he and Tim had parted at the Quidditch lockers.

He fairly ran to Bradbury Tower, took the Disconcerting Stair two steps at a time and shouted "Belsnickel!" at the Dutchman, who'd been having an afternoon snooze leaning against a tree.

"Hm? Vhat?" the old soldier grumbled. "Oh, it's you. In you go, then!"

As Ethan entered the common-room, he saw Tim still asleep in his chair, just as the vase of wine had shown. Ethan tip-toed up to his friend and slipped the book out of his hands.

"You'll never get ahead this way!" he exclaimed. Tim started and looked about groggily.

"Huh? What's that?" Tim asked in bewilderment. "Oh, it's you. Geez, Ethan, what are you trying to do to me?"

"Sorry, man. I just couldn't resist," Ethan said with a laugh. "But I had to wake you up. You'll never guess what I've just seen."

After Ethan had finished relating his adventure with the vases, Tim shook his head, but his eyes glinted with excitement.

"I've never known anyone who could get mixed up with such amazing stuff as you do, Ethan," he said. "Amazing...and dangerous! When are you going back?"

"Tomorrow afternoon, I hope. Can't wait too long...once term starts, it'll be impossible to do it without being seen."

"Can I come?" Tim asked eagerly. "I mean, you shouldn't go out there alone again...you know, just in case something happens."

"Come along," Ethan readily agreed, "and maybe you can show me your family in the vases, like I saw mine."

So it was that the two of them went flying again the next day. But this time, both boys headed out towards the lake after they'd put their brooms away. Snow flakes drifted and eddied over the mountain top, but the sun occasionally found its way through the clouds as well. Ethan was glad to have the amulet this time; he had managed to run its chain around Tim's neck too, so only their footprints could be seen moving through the drifted snow. Across the ice they went. The door opened as easily as before. Once inside, Ethan slipped off the amulet and the two boys moved quickly up the spiral stair.

Tim looked around the room in silence, taking in the flickering torches, the stone table, and the three vases. Ethan watched as his friend read the verses carved into the table top.

"What do you suppose it means, '_risk the danger_'?" he asked at length.

"Dunno exactly," Ethan replied. "Like I told you, some of the images were so real I felt I was inside the vase. But that's impossible, right?"

"I'd think so," said Tim. "So, let me give it a try. Just the present for now."

He stepped before the middle vase.

"Just wave your wand, like it says," Ethan instructed him.

Tim did so, and Ethan watched as his friend was drawn down toward the vase. Tim's eyes opened wide as the wine bubbled in the copper vase.

"Whew! This _is_ weird, Ethan," he said.

"What do you see?"

"Well, Bancroft was reading in his study," Tim answered. "Where's this? Oh, it's the back pasture at the farm. Marvin--he's my oldest brother is out on a tractor. And...the rest of the family, they're all sitting around the Christmas tree. Looks like Will got the Play Station he wanted. And Steven's got a hockey game and a Hulk Hogan action figure. Come on Ethan, take a look at them!"

Ethan stepped up next to Tim and looked down at the vase. To his disappointment, he saw only the still-bubbling wine.

"I can't see, Tim, maybe if you move over a bit."

Tim moved one step to his left, and Ethan moved over, but still saw no image.

"I guess only one can see at a time," Ethan surmised, a bit crestfallen.

"Now where am I?" Tim asked. "Water everywhere. And fog. It must be the ocean. I've never seen it, unless you count New York harbor.

Ethan was intrigued, though he could only imagine what Tim described.

"This can't be New York. There's a coastline, and that flashing light must be a lighthouse. But I'm moving into the fog now. Nothing but fog. Hold on, the fog's gone, it's really bright, and there's a little island."

"Hey, I wonder if that's..." Ethan began. But Tim continued, apparently oblivious to his friend's presence.

"There's the strangest house I've ever seen, right in the middle of the island. They've got loads of snow. Hey, there's someone skimming in on a broom...no, there are four more and they've got a quaffle. Looks like a pick-up quidditch game. That's Anne! And the others all have red hair too. Must be her brothers."

"Thought so," Ethan murmured.

"Huh?" Tim asked blankly. "Wait, it's fading. What's next? Come on! Nothing?"

Tim stood back from the vase.

"Well, that was interesting, as far as it went," he said. "I mean, it was good to see my family and now I know what Anne's house looks like, but I didn't see anything interesting like you did."

"Maybe you should be glad," Ethan said quietly. As he did, they both saw a script appearing on the table top.

_If the present seems far too mundane,  
look in the vase that's clear as the rain._

_What may come to pass may be to your gain,  
But beware! What you see may cause infinite  
pain._

Ethan looked at Tim. When their eyes met, Ethan recognized the same mingled eagerness and uncertainty in Tim that he felt himself.

"Not entirely encouraging, is it?" Tim finally said.

"No," Ethan agreed. "Then again, to know what's going to happen..."

"Yeah," Tim murmured. After a moment he stepped up to the glass vase and said, "Well, I'm going to give it a try."

Ethan watched as Tim gazed down into the water. A few large bubbles began to rise from the bottom of the vase. Gradually the bubbling became more intense, as if the water was coming to a boil. Tim leaned down over the vase, his face just a few inches above the surface. Ethan could make out nothing more, but he could tell that Tim was beginning to see what the vase chose to show.

"Let's see, this looks familiar," Tim mused. "Yeah, the Assembly Hall. Looks like a feast, it's all decorated. Flyte's standing up, giving a speech. No, he's handing out awards. Shoot, that's me...I'm a lot taller and he's handing me a big trophy. I think we won the Kaaterskill Cup, Ethan!"

Tim said this without looking at Ethan. His eyes remained riveted on the vase. "What's going on now? It's dark. Oh, it's the dormitory. That's me again, asleep though. Kind of dull. Wait a minute, I'm thrashing around, must be a bad dream. I wonder...ooh, must have woken you guys up, you've opened the curtains and you're all looking down at me like I'm nuts. It's fading..."

Tim went quiet again for a moment. Then he spoke again as a new image appeared in the vase.

"Dark again, but this time it's outside. There's a really bright light coming. I'd know this anywhere. It's a wheat field and that's a combine--our combine, I should say. Looks like Marvin's in the cab. Harvest's an amazing time, no one sleeps. Someday you should see it, man."

"Uh-huh," Ethan grunted. He'd begun to impatiently wonder when he'd get his chance at the vase.

"Look out! There's somebody in front of the machine. Geez, it's my little brother Will. He knows better than to wander around when that machine's working! He's going to get hit! Marvin, don't you see him? Oh, no..."

Tim broke off, gasping. Ethan didn't dare ask him what had happened.

"Darn it, why'd you go blank just then," Tim said to the vase, smacking his fist against the hard table. Then he stood up straight and Ethan saw a tear trickling down his cheek.

"Tim?" Ethan asked uncertainly. "You OK?"

"_I'm_ fine," Tim answered unsteadily.

"Do you think Will..."

"I don't know," Tim muttered angrily. "The combine was about on top of him and the picture just went black. I don't see how he could have gotten out."

"Well, we don't know whether the vase shows what will really happen," Ethan said in an attempt to reassure Tim. "I mean it keeps talking about what _may_ come to pass."

"Yeah," Tim replied, sounding unconvinced. "Well, I'm done. Why don't you have a go?"

"Don't know if I should now," Ethan told him. "Then again, that is why I came back today."

Tim moved to the side of the room and leaned against the wall. Ethan took his place before the glass vase and looked down at the water, once again clear and placid. As he did so, the water began to bubble as before. Now Ethan began to perceive images within the vase. At first Ethan saw mere snatches of scenes, like clips excerpted from a film.

The images passed quickly, though some appeared several times. An empty, torch-lit passage, water trickling down its sloped surface, turned up so many times as to be etched in Ethan's mind. He saw a room with walls covered floor to ceiling with paintings of all sorts. In elaborate cases of wood and glass, strange silver and golden instruments were arranged. In other cases were ancient, leather-bound tomes and sinister-looking displays of skulls, hands and unidentifiable bones. This room, like the dark corridor, passed across the surface of the vase several times quickly.

Eventually the pictures in the vase slowed, allowing Ethan a better look at what passed. The room of exhibits came into focus, and Ethan's eye was drawn to one wall, entirely filled with portraits of witches and wizards. Several of these seemed vaguely familiar to Ethan. With a start he realized several had pointy chins and blonde hair like his own, but with emerald-colored eyes. Others resembled his mother, with dark hair, wavy curls and the blue eyes Diana Lloyd shared with her son.

The people in these portraits seemed to be looking down at someone or something with great interest. Some pointed, others talked animatedly with their neighbors. _Who are they? They must be my ancestors, but I don't know anything about them_, Ethan thought. _And where is this room?_

But before he could look about for more clues, the vision faded. Darkness followed, the inky darkness of a moonless night. Gradually, the shadows of tall trees appeared beneath dots of light that must have been stars. Ethan felt a deep foreboding, though he as yet could see no reason to fear. Something about this scene felt familiar, though he was sure he'd never been deep in any wood at night. As he looked down, Ethan saw a figure coming into view, and as it came closer Ethan recognized himself, robes torn and face pale. He was running, as if being pursued. Somehow he knew that he had something of great value to his hunters, something he had to keep from them at all costs.

Again the scene changed. A man in white robes walked along a lonely path among mountains. Ethan caught a glimpse of the man's face. _Dad!_ he thought at once, but then he wondered. _Maybe not, though. Could be one of those people from the portrait room_.

The water bubbled again and the image before Ethan dissolved, replaced by a towering figure of flame and shadow. Ethan felt a primal hate rising within him. _No, it can't be! _his mind told him. _ That's in the past!_

He wrenched himself away from the vase and stumbled to the edge of the room, gasping for breath.

"It can't be...it can't," he muttered, this time aloud. "That's from the past."

It was Tim's turn to be concerned.

"Are you OK, Ethan?" he asked. "You look really pale."

"That can't be the future!" Ethan continued, barely aware of Tim's presence. "Something's gone wrong...it's past...not future."

"Ethan, what are you talking about?" Tim persisted. Ethan finally focused on his friend's face, which was etched with worry.

Ethan caught his breath and then tried to explain.

"I just saw-and felt--something that I know was from the past," he said soberly. "The vase must have malfunctioned or something."

"Whatever was it?" Tim asked.

"The thing...the creature from Table Mountain," Ethan said and he covered his face with his hands. "What the Death Eaters set free and my parents locked up again."

"Maybe it's not locked up for good, though," Tim suggested.

"But it has to be, Tim," Ethan said firmly. "If it gets out...I told you what it felt like just seeing it in the vase of the past. If that's wandering about the world, we're all doomed."

"Well, you could have been right before, you know," Tim said. "We don't know that the vase shows what really happens. Maybe it's just what _could_ happen..."

"Yeah, maybe," Ethan nodded, and then closed his eyes in thought."

"_How_ could it happen?" Tim asked.

"I'll tell you how," Ethan said eagerly. "If what my parents left here gets back to Hafgan or Voldemort or whoever, that's how!"

"You could be right, Ethan!" Tim said excitedly. "Ang Hsu told us in class that really powerful talismans could harness great power, power way beyond the reach of even great wizards! Don't you remember?"

"That's what happened, I'll just bet it is," Ethan replied, remembering what he'd seen the day before. "When I saw the Death Eaters free the creature in the past, Hafgan held something up in his left hand. That's what my parents found and brought here. That's what the sphinx is guarding! And that's what Tiverton is trying to steal!"

"So if Tiverton gets the talisman, than the creature could be released again," said Tim.

"But if we can stop him getting it," Ethan said resolutely. "Then the creature stays where it is...forever."

"Well, we can't stay here forever," Tim said. "We'd better get back to the dorm before someone notices us missing."

The winter afternoon was already turning dusky as the sun sank below the mountains to the west. Ethan looked longingly at the vases, but he knew Tim was right.

They headed back down the stairs. Ethan slung the amulet's chain around Tim and himself before they opened the door and returned over the frozen lake. When they reached the entrance, he took the amulet off again and stuffed into the pocket of his robes.

Ethan found it very difficult to concentrate on anything but the vases of Artephius that night. The vase of the future had given him much to consider. Oddly, the vision that kept returning to him was not the awful figure of flame and shadow, but the art gallery with all of those vaguely familiar faces looking down at him with interest. Who were they? Ethan had never known any relatives beyond his parents, Aunt Eilonwy and Uncle Bertrand. He knew that Llewellyn Lewes Lloyd had taught at Kaaterskill many years earlier, but he wondered if he could find out more by looking in the vases once again.

Tim, on the other hand, seemed unnerved by his experience with the vases. The next afternoon, Ethan suggested that they again go flying. But Tim didn't seem interested.

"Maybe I'll just go for a walk, then," he said, unconsciously fingering the amulet stowed in his pocket. "Do you want to come along?"

"No, I think I'll just stay here and read," Tim said, eyeing Ethan shrewdly. "I know where you want to go, Ethan. Don't go back, please!"

"Why shouldn't I?" Ethan asked. "No one knows I've been up in the tower. And I really want to try to learn more."

"Well, there's something odd about those vases," said Tim. "They gave me the creeps. And I'm sure students aren't allowed there. Just because we didn't get caught doesn't mean it won't happen."

Ethan shrugged, but pulled on a sweater and his winter robes and headed down the tower and out to the grounds. He slipped behind a large tree just outside the entry hall, put the amulet around his neck and walked quickly out to the lake again. It seemed nearly routine now. In minutes he was up at the top of the little tower, standing before the vases. He decided to try the vase of the future once again. Sure enough, the image of the painting gallery appeared quickly. This time he was able to take his time gazing at each portrait in turn. Many had plaques on their frames. Ethan was just able to make out the name "Lloyd" on several of them.

He strained to try to see more, but he was startled by a deep voice behind him.

"Back for another look at the family portraits, Ethan?"

Ethan felt as if his stomach had dropped about a foot. He turned and saw the tall, blue robed figure of Cyrus Flyte standing at the back of the room, the light of the torches flickering over his grave face. Ethan must have focused his attention so intently on the vase that he hadn't heard the headmaster enter the chamber.

"Umm...yes, sir. I didn't hear you come in."

"Indeed. Fascinating how concentrating one's senses on the future can lead one to neglect the here-and-now," said Flyte, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly.

"So," Flyte continued. "I see that you, like so many others over the centuries, have discovered the lure of the Vases of Artephius."

"Centuries, sir? How long have they been here?"

"Well, that is difficult to say," Flyte answered enigmatically. "Because they are not always here. Whenever I have really needed them, I have found them here in this tower. But I have found no sign of them here on many more occasions."

Ethan suddenly felt a need to explain his presence in the tower.

"I'm sorry, sir, I didn't mean to interfere," he said. "I don't even know why I was drawn here the first time. If I'd known they were here for you to..."

But Flyte held up his hand.

"You misunderstand me, Ethan," the headmaster said. "I have had neither need nor desire to look into the vases for many years now. If they were here when you arrived in the tower, you must have been meant to find them. I trust that you understand by now what they show you."

"Past, present and future--my past, present and future," Ethan answered hesitantly.

"Well, yes...and no," Flyte responded. "For example, the vase of the past showed you the events at Table Mountain many years ago. And the vase of the future showed Mr. Van der Meulen receiving an award from the school."

"How do you know that?"

"Now you have spent much of the past term wondering just what happened at Table Mountain," Flyte said, as if he hadn't heard Ethan's question. "Your classmate, on the other hand, comes from a background so unlike Kaaterskill that he still wonders whether he can ever really fit in here, despite being both top student in his class and a very good chaser to boot. The vases don't simply show past, present or future events. They react to the deepest concerns of the viewer's heart. And this is where most fail to understand the message of the vases."

"I don't understand, sir."

"One cannot rely too heavily on what the vase shows one, Ethan, for the vision is incomplete and may be influenced by the deepest hopes and fears of the viewer. While the danger of misinterpretation is greatest when looking into the vase of the future, one cannot fully trust any of the vases."

"So Tim's little brother may not get hit by the combine?" Ethan asked, trying to get his mind to understand what Flyte was saying.

"Alas, I cannot say," the headmaster said with a sigh. "The future is always very indistinct, very changeable. So many choices yet to be made, so many actions that may be taken or not. The best that I can say is that the vase shows shades of what may be in the future. Better men than you or I have gazed into the vases and gone mad with despair, been paralyzed with fear--or been infected with unfounded confidence in their fortunes."

"I perceive that you are unlikely to find the vases for some time now, Ethan," Flyte continued. "If and when you do, you will be better prepared to interpret what you see. Remember that while the past beyond our control shapes our lives, the choices we all make can change the future. We will all do well to remember that, rather than despairing of making a difference. Now, why don't you put on your father's old amulet and head back to Bradbury Tower?"

Ethan stepped back from the table that held the vases.

"Professor Flyte, sir? Can I ask a question?"

"As you already have," Flyte said wryly, "I suppose you can ask another."

"When you've found the vases here, what did they tell you?"

"The last time, I discovered that it would have been a bad idea to give my uncle socks for his birthday," Flyte answered. "A good thing, too. I've always thought one can never have enough..socks, that is. But what he really wanted was books."

Later, as Ethan lay in his four-poster, it occurred to him that the headmaster might have been pulling his leg. Then again, he thought as sleep took him, it really hadn't been any of his business in the first place.


	15. Snowed Under

Chapter Fifteen

Snowed Under

Ethan stayed true to his word and didn't try to return to the Vases for the rest of the Christmas holiday. He returned the amulet to the bottom of his trunk, wondering whether his parents would have considered the way he had used it "frivolous."

He could not, however, forget what the Vases had shown him. His dreams became troubled, full of searching red eyes, pillars of flame, his mother weeping.

Tim also had difficulty shaking what he had seen from his memory.

"I can see what Flyte meant when he told you the Vases could drive you off the deep end," he said, after he'd confided in Ethan that he, too, had been having nightmares that centered on farm accidents.

They confined their outdoor activities to the quidditch grounds for the remainder of the holidays.

Ethan also completed his portrait of Tim the morning before classes started. As he had in their very first art class, Ethan used the special spells that brought the painted version of Tim to life. Professor Skryme was pleased and Ethan couldn't help thinking that he'd done a much better job capturing his friend on canvas than he had on his first attempt.

In fact, Ethan had wanted to present Tim with the portrait, but Professor Skryme had insisted that it remain in the painting studio.

"We wouldn't want anyone thinking that Mr. Van der Meulen was putting on airs, now would we?" he had told Ethan.

"Well, maybe Tim could send it home to his folks," Ethan suggested, but Skryme didn't approve of that idea, either.

"I'm afraid we're not allowed to hang our paintings in the homes of muggles," Skryme had explained. "I'm sure you understand that, Mr. Lloyd! But don't fear! Your work will undoubtedly provide inspiration to the other artists here at Kaaterskill."

When Anne returned later that day, Ethan and Tim told her about the Vases. She was greatly disappointed to have missed the adventure, but her disappointment was tempered by Ethan's deduction that the Sphinx was guarding a talisman of great power.

"What we need to know now is how much Tiverton has already learned about how to get to it," she told them. "There are probably all sorts of spells and enchantments around it, even if he got past the Sphinx."

Ethan was actually somewhat relieved to get back to classes, although soon enough the workload changed his mind.

Winter on the mountain top was beautiful, but a seemingly endless series of storms left everyone feeling shut in. Standish and Beadle worked overtime keeping a path clear between the school building and the greenhouses. The drifts dwarfed the first-years as they trudged out for Herbology class. Professor Crockett carefully kept the greenhouse fires stoked, more for the sake of his plants than for the comfort of the students.

Quidditch continued despite the weather. Tim and the rest of the Bradbury squad practiced under terribly harsh conditions, for the next match against Tituba was to be played before the end of January. On many nights, Tim returned to the common room with frost still clinging to his eyelashes, cheeks ruddy from flying in the freezing air.

"Are you going play this match?" Marcus asked on one such evening. "If not, they should let you skip practice and stay dry for a change!"

"Looks like I'm playing," Tim said as he stood warming himself in front of the fire. "East should be back to normal, but he's only flown a few times. Danny says he's still not himself."

"Too bad for him," Marcus said. "But hey, his loss is your gain, if you don't freeze to death, right?"

"I wouldn't want to bet against the freezing part," Tim said with a shiver.

So January crept along and both work and snow piled up. Match day finally arrived, along with another snowstorm. As the enchanted ceiling glowered with storm clouds above them, the Bradbury first years speculated on the day's events at breakfast.

"They won't really play in weather like this, will they?" asked Kyle.

"Quidditch matches are never postponed," Anne said authoritatively. "They've played in hurricanes, blizzards and tornadoes."

"I've heard they have some spells that help keep the stands dry, and the field more or less clear," Peter offered.

"Doesn't do much good for the players in the air, though," Tim said. "We saw Standish and Beadle out there yesterday during practice. But you spectators will have it pretty good."

On the way out to the stadium, Ethan seriously considered returning to Bradbury Tower, at least for the first match, Harrison against Tenskwatawa. But he knew that attendance was mandatory and the last thing he wanted to do was get caught alone in the school during quidditch again.

The snow came down in sheets during the match, though it magically disappeared as it reached the ground. The spells that kept the stands dry and reasonably warm had no apparent effect on the wind. Gusts blew constantly through the Bradbury stands. Ethan's scarf fluttered constantly, like a flag. The players were buffeted by wind and snow and the scoring was infrequent. Ethan wondered just how the seekers would be able to see the Golden Snitch, let alone catch it.

About an hour and a half into the match, Harrison led 40-30. Suddenly Eric McFee, the Harrison seeker, took off from his hovering location above the field, swooping down towards the faculty grandstand. Sanchez hurtled after him. Ethan could hardly see what was happening through the blowing snowflakes. He thought that McFee was holding a hand out as if to grab the Snitch, just a few feet above the ground. Sanchez was just behind him. Just as McFee seemed ready to close his palm around the Snitch, a huge gust of wind caught him and threw him right into Bruno Galvez, the referee. The broom caught Galvez on the forehead. Both Galvez and McFee crashed into the ground and at the same instant Sanchez triumphantly held up his right hand, in which the Golden Snitch now fluttered.

"What a reversal! Tenskwatawa has won. Darn it! I mean, bad luck, Harrison!" came the dispirited voice of Gordy Lemister announcing the end of the match.

The Bradbury first-years groaned; for them a Tenskwatawa victory was not at all welcome.

"Bad luck!" Marcus exclaimed. "Why couldn't the wind have picked Sanchez up and sent him over the mountain?"

Ethan didn't care much about the fate of Sanchez, as he'd noticed that Galvez still appeared to be unconscious. Nurse Abernathy was leaning over him, as was the headmaster. After a few minutes, Galvez stirred and looked up groggily. He tried to struggle to his feet, but Abernathy restrained him. Cyrus Flyte waved his wand once and a pair of stretchers appeared, floating in midair. Galvez was placed upon one. Eric McFee, who was standing but had a large bump on his forehead, got onto the other stretcher reluctantly. Abernathy marched away, moving the stretchers along with her wand.

"What now?" Peter asked. "Without a referee, they'll have to cancel our match."

Nobody answered, but Ethan noticed that Flyte had huddled with the faculty in their section of the stands. After a few minutes they ended their conference. Ethan saw that two teachers were now missing from their seats--Professor O'Loughlin and Professor Tiverton. He pointed this out to his friends.

"Well, they both had students involved in that crash," Marcus noted. "Maybe they went to the infirmary."

"Maybe," Ethan replied. "But I've got a bad feeling about this."

Fifteen minutes passed and Gordy's voice boomed out once again, though Ethan thought the announcer had lost a bit of his spirit after the Harrison loss. The snow had let up for the moment, but the clouds still glowered as dark as ever.

"And now we welcome you to today's second match continuing the Kaaterskill House Quidditch Challenge. At this end, please welcome the undefeated Bradbury Founders!"

Danny Dewin led the Bradbury players hurtling into the air and down to the goals in front of the faculty grandstand. The Bradbury fans cheered, waved scarves and banners that flapped in the winter wind.

"And defending the far hoops, also undefeated, welcome the Tituba Sorcerers!"

The Titubans flew out from the lockers and circled the hoops at that end of the field.

The players took their positions and the captains met at the center of the field.

"So, who's the referee?" Anne asked.

An unfamiliar figure flew out from the lockers, someone much smaller than the burly Galvez. Under the heavy robes and goggles, Ethan couldn't make out who it was.

Gordy's next announcement ended their confusion.

"Referee for this match, graciously standing in for Señor Galvez, will be Professor Tiverton."

"Tiverton?" Marcus repeated incredulously, as Ethan and Anne shared a dark look. "Since when does he know anything about calling a quidditch match?"

"I'll tell you why he's out there," Ethan said. "I bet he figures he's just been given a great chance to get back at Bradbury for the last match!"

The snitch, bludgers and quaffle were released and the match got underway. As if on cue, the wind picked up and sheets of snow pelted down on the field again. For a good twenty minutes, neither team could keep the quaffle long enough to take a good shot.

Tim finally got a good run down the field towards the Tituba goals, managed a strong pass to Kenny, who hurled the quaffle through the rightmost hoop.

"Ten nil, Bradbury!" Gordy called. "Goals may be few and far between today!"

The Bradburys barely had a chance to celebrate when a loud whistle stopped play.

"What happened?" Marcus demanded.

"It seems the referee is calling Cooper for interfering with the quaffle," Gordy announced uncertainly. "And it appears that Paddock will be given a penalty shot. And Dewin dives and stops--no, it trickles through the center hoop! Goal Tituba, 10 all!"

"That's a _very_ obscure call," Anne grumbled. "He didn't try to hit the quaffle; the wind blew it into him."

"I told you so," Ethan said. "Tiverton couldn't even let us keep a ten point lead for a minute!"

Play resumed. The teams continued to struggle in the blizzard. Routine passes between chasers went astray in the wind. The seekers seemed to have no idea how to find the Snitch amid the eddying snowflakes. The bludgers flew around the pitch in a dangerously unpredictable way. Remembering East's accident, Ethan thought it lucky no one had been hit in the head.

Bradbury had scraped a 40-20 lead after the first hour. No one scored for another forty-five minutes, when Tiverton called Tim for blagging when the wind blew him into a Tituba chaser. The Sorcerers scored when a blast of snow blinded Danny Dewin on the penalty shot.

Sometime after this--Ethan wasn't sure exactly how long--the crowd suddenly came alive. Jenny Templeton had finally caught a glimpse of gold near the Tituba hoops. She flew as quickly as she could after it, faster than Ethan thought possible in the blustery wind.

Ethan glanced quickly to his right and saw Kenny steal the quaffle from a Tituba chaser. Kenny quickly passed to Melinda Travisano, who headed up the field.

All eyes were now on the Tituba end, which was a confusing blur of action. Jenny was weaving around the base of the hoops seeking the Snitch, the Tituba seeker on her heels.

Melinda passed the quaffle to Tim, who suddenly ducked as a bludger whizzed just over his head.

The Tituba keeper seemed momentarily uncertain about how to defend with the seekers zooming around the hoops.

Tim must have seen the keeper's hesitation. He quickly headed toward the center hoop, faked a shot, then turned and hurled the quaffle at the left hoop.

"Yes! Way to go, Tim!" Ethan yelled, but his voice was drowned by a sudden groan of despair from the Bradbury fans.

For as the quaffle soared toward the unguarded hoop, a flutter of gold appeared before it, followed by Jenny, who had stretched one hand out to grab the snitch while flying almost vertically.

The quaffle struck the Bradbury seeker on the hand and then deflected away from the hoop. Jenny momentarily lost her balance and veered off to the right shaking her hand.

Tituba's seeker had been right behind her and stayed on course. Worse, the quaffle's wake seemed to slow the Snitch ever so slightly. A moment later, the Tituba seeker was holding the Snitch up triumphantly.

"And Tituba has won. 180-40!" Gordy announced. "Another stunning turn of events! So Tituba remains undefeated in the House Quidditch Challenge!"

Ethan stood, as silent and stunned as the rest of the Bradburys. Across the field, Tituba's fans celebrated wildly. The Bradbury players had alighted and were examining Jenny Templeton's hand. After a few minutes, they trudged off toward the locker rooms, looking wet, cold and utterly beaten.

"Well, come on," Anne finally said. "Let's get out of this blizzard."

That evening the Bradbury common room was quiet as a morgue. The first-years huddled at one table and commiserated.

"Is Jenny OK?" asked Melissa Murthin.

"Oh, yeah," Tim answered. "Said it just stung when I hit her. She wouldn't even go up to the Infirmary."

"She agrees with the rest of them, it wasn't your fault, Tim," Anne said. "I heard her say it herself."

"I know, I know," Tim said dully. "They all said they didn't blame me. But I did cost us the game, now didn't I?"

Try as they might, nobody could cheer Tim up. Gradually people drifted away and went up to the dorms.

Finally, nearly all the disconsolate Bradburys had abandoned the common room. Only Marcus, Anne, Ethan and Tim remained, seated in the best armchairs in front of the flickering fire.

"Well, there's still the Harrison match," Marcus said, staring into the flames. "If we can win that, and Tituba plays as well against the Prophets as they did today..."

"You mean, if they get as lucky," Anne grumbled. "Tiverton won't be refereeing that match, I'll bet!"

Ethan shrugged. Tim said nothing, but leaned back in his chair and gazed at the ceiling.

The clock struck midnight. Anne stood up.

"Guess I'll go to bed. Good night, all!" she said as she trudged towards the stairway to the girls' dorms.

"I'm turning in, too," Marcus announced as Anne's red hair disappeared at the top of the stairs. "You two ought to, too. We've got those essays to write tomorrow yet."

"Don't remind me!" Ethan said. Thinking about the transfiguration essay seemed to be adding insult to injury. "But you're right. Come on, Tim, tomorrow's another day!"

"I suppose so," Tim answered, sounding unconvinced. But he also got up and the three of them made their way up to bed.

The first-years' dorm was already dark. Ethan heard Kyle snoring from within his curtained bed. Evidently Peter was also asleep.

Marcus, Ethan and Tim quickly changed into their pajamas, brushed their teeth and climbed into their own four-posters.

"Buck up, Tim!" Marcus whispered hoarsely. "It was a fluke, we all know that!"

"Yeah," Tim replied, also in a whisper. "I know, but I still feel lousy."

"You'll feel better in the morning," Ethan said with a yawn. "After a good night's rest. See you tomorrow."

"'Night, Ethan," Tim said. "'Night, Marcus."

Ethan was sound asleep in less than a minute. Hours later, he heard a hoarse cry of "NOOOO!" followed by a scream. Ethan opened his eyes, disoriented. For a moment he wondered what terrible dream he'd interrupted. But another moan followed and Ethan realized the sound was coming not from within his mind but from the adjacent bed.

"Tim! What's wrong?" he exclaimed, pulling open his curtains and springing out of bed.

No answer came from Tim's bed, just a rasping, throaty sound. Then Ethan heard Tim's voice, sounding far away, gasping "No, never! I won't..." followed by another scream.

Ethan pulled open Tim's curtains. At the same instant, Marcus and Kyle opened the curtains on the other side. The three of them stared at each other for a moment, then down at Tim.

"W-www-what's www-rong wwwith him?" Peter said fearfully as he staggered up next to Ethan.

Tim was tangled in his blankets, arms akimbo. His eyes were open wide but unseeing, staring up at the canopy, his face pale as death. Breaths were coming from his lungs in shuddering gasps.

"I won't! I'll never tell you that! You'll have to kill..." His voice trailed off and then he screamed again, his legs pulled up under his chin, writhing in apparent agony.

"Tim, wake up!" Ethan yelled. "You're having a bad dream! Wake up!"

"I'm going for Kenny," Marcus said, unnecessarily as it turned out, for as he turned to the door, the proctor ran through it.

"What in Merlin's name is going on down here?" he asked, surveying the scene, his face nearly as pale as Tim's.

"We don't know, Kenny," Ethan said. "I woke up and heard Tim screaming. He's having a bad dream, or a seizure, or something."

Kenny walked over to Tim's bed and shook him.

"Come on, Van der Meulen, wake up! You'll be all right if you wake up!"

Tim's eyes turned to Kenny and focused on the proctor. He looked around quickly, taking in Ethan's concerned eyes, then the others' fearful, confused faces.

"I'm...what's...oh, God, they were torturing me. They wanted me to tell them..."

"Calm down, Tim," Kenny said gently. "It was just a dream."

"No! It _wasn't_ a dream," Tim said, sounding suddenly angry. "Not a normal one anyway. There were people questioning me, they wanted to know...And they used a curse on me, again and again..."

Tim shut his eyes tight, his fists clenched, still rocking back and forth.

"It was terrible," he said without opening his eyes. "_Crucio_, he said. The pain, I've never felt anything like it. I felt like my body was going to explode, and then my brain..."

Tim broke off, shivering and covering his face with his hands.

Ethan looked at Kenny.

"Could a curse in a dream really affect him like that, especially if he'd never felt it before?"

Kenny said seriously, "I don't know, but it seems very unlikely. I think we need to get him to the Infirmary. Tim, do you think you can stand up?"

"I'll try." Tim struggled to push himself up. He half-stood, but his arms and legs shook and his face turned even paler.

"No, no," Kenny said. "That's no good. Easy now, let's sit you down again. Marcus, go get Bancroft. Ethan, help me get him back down."

Ethan slid an arm around Tim's back. Kenny tried to support Tim on the other side and they somehow managed to get him back onto the bed.

Marcus again ran for the door from the dormitory to the stairs. Again he stopped short, this time jumping aside just in time to avoid being bowled over by Professor Bancroft. The Bradbury master, dressed in a fur-trimmed burgundy night gown and slippers covered in shimmering scales, wore an expression of concern on his face.

Bancroft looked at Kenny, then Tim.

"Well, Mr. Sturtevant, what's happened?" Bancroft asked. "I was told a student was in trouble up here."

"Van der Meulen seems to have had some sort of bad dream," Kenny replied. "Someone was using Unforgivable Curses on him...in the dream, I mean."

"I told you, Kenny, I wasn't dreaming!" Tim burst out.

"What do you mean, Mr. Van der Meulen?" Bancroft asked, looking hard at Tim. "Are you saying that someone was casting curses on you in your bed?"

"No, I wasn't here...it was somewhere else," Tim faltered. "There were two of them. They wanted to know something, but I wouldn't tell them. One of them aimed his wand at me and..."

At this Tim fell silent and began shivering so hard that Ethan and Kenny seemed to be shaking as well.

"Mr. Van der Meulen, I know this is difficult for you," Bancroft said. "But I need to know exactly what happened. What did the man with the wand do?"

"He shouted...just one word," Tim said slowly, still shivering. With great effort, he whispered, "_Crucio!_"

Tim's face contorted as if in agony. Bancroft looked startled.

"Mr. Van der Meulen, have you ever witnessed this curse?" The house master asked seriously.

"No!' Tim answered quickly.

"Have you ever read about its effects?" Bancroft continued.

"No, I've never even heard the word before!" Tim said.

"He did describe the effects of the curse very vividly, sir," Kenny said. "Not that I've ever...Professor Hsu does cover it with the fifth years, sir."

"Thank you, I'm aware of that, yes, Mr. Sturtevant. I just don't understand how a first-year would know."

Ethan felt Tim slump against him. He couldn't understand why Kenny and Bancroft were taking so long to start for the Infirmary.

"Look, Tim's sick! He's not making it up!" Ethan finally burst out. "He's not lying! None of us know anything about Unforgivable Curses or whatever they're called! Can't you just get him over to the Infirmary?"

Bancroft looked at Ethan as if he'd just noticed his presence. Though still serious, his demeanor softened a bit.

"I believe your friend is telling the truth, Mr. Lloyd, at least as he experienced it," the history professor said. "And there are explanations for what he felt tonight, though all seem improbable at first consideration. The headmaster may be able to work that out. But you are right; we need to get him to Miss Abernathy first."

Bancroft waved his wand and conjured a stretcher out of thin air, just like the ones at the Quidditch match. He and Kenny lifted Tim gently onto the stretcher. Using his wand, Bancroft gently levitated the stretcher towards the door. Kenny led the way down the stairs. Ethan and Marcus rose to follow, but Bancroft shook his head.

"No, boys. You will best serve your friend and yourselves by staying here! He'll get the care he needs from the nurse. Get some rest and you'll see him in the morning."

Marcus muttered under his breath, but Ethan just shrugged; he could tell there was no arguing with Bancroft. They watched helplessly as Tim floated down the tower stairs and into the common room.

The remaining first-year Bradbury boys sat on the edge of their beds, mostly silent, for some time.

"That was the worst bad dream I've ever seen," Marcus said after a long time. "If that's what it was."

"But what else could it have been?" Peter said, his voice squeaking as it usually did when he was nervous or frightened. "He didn't leave his bed."

"What if someone did attack him with telepathy or something...from a long way away?" Kyle asked.

"Could they do it to one of us next?" Peter wondered, his words nearly obscured by his squeak.

"No, whatever happened, it must have something to do with Tim, not the rest of us," Ethan said. "Though I can't imagine what it could be."

"I hope you're right," Peter said doubtfully as he pulled his bed curtains shut again.

"Well, we know that Brocklebank's been out to get him for months now," Marcus said. "Maybe he's figured out how to do it without leaving fingerprints."

"Brocklebank?" Ethan said dismissively. "I doubt he's figured out how to cast curses remotely."

Marcus yawned. "Well there's nothing we can do anyway," he said. "So I'm going back to bed." Soon the room was again dark. Within minutes, Marcus and Kyle were snoring. Ethan spent a long time wondering and worrying about Tim's torment. Finally he too drifted back to sleep.

Sunday mornings were usually quiet and relaxing at Kaaterskill. The excitement of Quidditch was past and homework could be put off until afternoon or evening. But this Sunday, the Bradbury table was somber as the news of Tim's illness spread. There was no news of his condition until lunchtime, when Professor Bancroft strode over to where the first-years were huddled.

"Your classmate has a remarkable constitution," he said. "The best wizards would have been knocked out for a week or more by what he's gone through. But he's sitting up and asking to see you...all of you."

"That's great, sir!" Ethan said. "Can we go see him?"

"Well, Nurse Abernathy doesn't really approve, but the headmaster has convinced her that Mr. Van der Meulen can have visitors beginning at 3 o'clock. But please...don't overtax him _or_ the nurse!"

As the clock struck three, a small crowd had gathered in the hallway outside the infirmary. All the Bradbury first-years were there, as were all the members of the Bradbury Quidditch team and all of the Bradbury proctors.

The door to the infirmary opened and a petite older witch, graying hair tied back in a bun, stepped into the hallway. Nurse Abernathy cast a wary eye in their direction.

"Well, you can see him, but not all at once" she said. Gesturing at Ethan, Marcus and Anne, she continued. "You three first...ten minutes! This isn't your common room, you know!"

Ethan felt relieved to see that Tim was sitting up and, for the most part, looking his usual self. He was still a bit pale, but he was smiling bashfully at the knot of concerned visitors.

"You OK, man?" Marcus asked. "You don't look like death warmed over anymore!"

"I'm fine, just fine," Tim answered, a bit too quickly, Ethan thought. "I hope Abernathy will let me out soon."

"But what happened, Tim?" Anne asked. "All the boys could tell me was that you acted as if you'd been tortured. But how could that be?"

Tim's smile faded a bit. He seemed to labor over his answer.

"I don't really know, Anne. I know I wasn't being tortured. I mean, I was right there in my bed, wasn't I? But it wasn't quite like a dream, either. It was almost as if I was watching another me. But it wasn't just watching..." Tim shivered again, but quickly recovered.

Then he turned to Ethan.

"Whatever was happening to me, it was because of you."

"What?" All three of the others asked at once. Ethan felt himself go nearly as pale as Tim looked.

"No, I didn't mean...," Tim said awkwardly. "I mean whoever had me--the other me--wanted to know something about Ethan. I don't know just what it was, but I know that's why they tortured, well, me or whoever."

"Could you tell who _they_ were?" Anne asked.

"No, Flyte already asked me. All I remember is there were two of them. They were wearing masks. One of them seemed familiar somehow, but I couldn't see him well enough. The other was tall and had horrible red eyes coming through the mask. Those eyes! I can't forget them."

"I've seen those eyes, too, Tim," Ethan said quietly. "In the Vase of the Present. They were looking for me."

At the mention of the Vase, Tim looked from Ethan to Marcus to Anne in surprise.

"Oh, Marcus is all right, Tim. We told him about the Vases...and the Sphinx, too," Anne said. Then she frowned at Ethan. "What do you mean, looking for you?"

"Well, that's how it felt," Ethan said. "I was looking into a room with a fireplace and he was there. And then he was walking toward me, as if he knew I was watching. I didn't want him to find me, so I stopped looking."

"Flyte didn't say anything about the vases being two-way, did he?" Anne said.

"No, he didn't," Ethan answered. "But you just reminded me of something! Tim, remember when you looked into the future? You saw yourself in the dorm having a really bad dream. You said the rest of us were all looking down at you in the bed. And that's just what happened!"

"You're right!" Tim exclaimed. "I'd completely forgotten it. So the Vases really do work, then."

"What if someone used those Vases or something like them to get at Tim?" Anne continued.

"I don't think the Vases work that way, I really don't," Ethan said doubtfully. "But even if they did, why curse Tim to find out about me when I was asleep in the next bed?"

"I don't know," Anne said. "It was just an idea."

"When you get out of here, let's all try to figure out what exactly happened last night," Ethan suggested. "And why!"

"Sounds good," Tim agreed. "Uh-oh, looks like your ten minutes is up!"

Indeed, Miss Abernathy was gesturing at them and pointing to the door.

As they left, Marcus called back, "Take it easy, Tim. See you soon!"

The Quidditch team crowded past the three of them as they filed through the Infirmary door. Back in the hallway, Kyle, Peter and the other first-years waited anxiously for news of Tim's condition.

"He seems good, considering what he went through," Ethan offered. "Almost himself. I'll bet he's out tomorrow or the next day."

"But does he know what really happened?" Maddie asked.

"I don't think anyone does," Marcus said. "But Flyte's talked to him. If anyone can get to the bottom of it, it'll be the old man, don't you think?"

"Yeah, Flyte knows most everything that goes on around here," Anne added.

In the event, it was Wednesday before Abernathy released Tim from the Infirmary. By then he had a good deal of homework to catch up on. Even so, Ethan managed to convene their first investigative meeting on Thursday after dinner. He and Tim joined Marcus and Anne at a table in a quiet corner of the Library to discuss Tim's experience.

"First of all," Tim said. "Bancroft and Flyte seemed to believe me when I told them it wasn't a dream."

"Well that's good to know," Ethan said. "Not that any of us have any doubts."

"Right," Marcus agreed. "Seeing you-and hearing you-that night, there's no way that was just a dream. I thought you were having some sort of seizure."

"Well, we've agreed what itwasn't," Anne remarked. "We have to decide what it really was."

"We know Tim didn't leave the room," Ethan said. "At least his body was there the whole time. So could someone have sneaked into and cursed him? Maybe in an invisibility cloak?"

"I don't think so," Anne answered. "First, they'd have to steal our password--unless it was a Bradbury, what a thought! But you all should have heard the curse, guys; a cloak wouldn't have masked sound. And Tim was still being cursed when you were all standing around him, right?"

"OK, we'll eliminate that choice," Ethan agreed.

Marcus made the next suggestion.

"Could someone have planted a false memory in his mind? I mean, people modify memories all the time. They could make it seem sort of like a dream that way."

"Maybe," Tim replied. "But who did it and when? I've been right here since September."

"I still think Brocklebank's involved," Marcus said. "Even if he couldn't do it himself, he knows plenty of upperclassmen who might."

"And there's Tiverton," Anne added. "He's already tried to get rid of Ethan and me once, if our guess is right."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Ethan interjected. "I'm not sure memory modification explains this. What about actually casting a curse from a distance? Could it be done?"

"I've never heard of it," Anne said. "Mind, if it is possible it'd be very advanced _and_ very dark magic. Anyone who could do that would want to keep it secret."

"Yeah, but I suppose it could work," Marcus continued. It might work kind of like apparition. You have to really concentrate on the place you want to go. Maybe you could build from that; instead of going somewhere, you could send a spell."

"But you'd need to know exactly where your victim was," Anne objected.

"So what better time to try than when everyone's asleep in their dorm," Tim theorized. "This might make sense, after all."

"How'd they know which bed is yours?" Anne persisted. "And why not go right after Ethan?"

Ethan thought both these questions worth answering, but both Tim and Marcus brushed them off.

"I don't know, but it's the closest explanation for what I felt," Tim said.

"Now we have to figure out who and why," said Marcus. "My guess is that it has something to do with what you all saw last fall."

"That brings us back to Tiverton," Anne said. "I'd say he's figured out we know about the Sphinx. Maybe he needs to know _how much_ we've learned, just in case we've found out how to get by it."

Just then a figure emerged from the book stacks nearest their table. Ethan realized they'd been talking too loudly in their eagerness. Everyone fell silent for a moment, until they realized who it was.

"Oh, hi, Peter," Ethan said.

"Oh, hi, guys!" Peter answered him, just a bit of a squeak in his voice. "Having a secret meeting without me?"

"Not anymore," Anne said with a little laugh.

"Did I hear you talking about the Sphinx?" Peter asked in a whisper.

"Yeah," said Marcus, gesturing to Peter to join them.

"Well, I think that all we can do for now is wait and see if we can find a way to catch Tiverton doing something," Anne suggested and they all agreed.

And so they waited. February passed and March was nearly over when the first opportunity for action arose. One evening, Ethan, Tim and Marcus were working on star charts in preparation for an early-morning Astronomy class. Anne was reading the Potions text in front of the fire.

The portrait door opened and Peter Powles rushed through it. He spied the boys and hurried over to their table, out of breath.

"What is it, Peter?" Ethan asked in a bemused voice.

"I think Tiverton's up to something!" he whispered excitedly. Anne had come over and was looking on curiously.

"Really? How'd you know?" Marcus asked skeptically.

"I was in the Library and I overheard Brocklebank talking to my sister," he said quickly. "He told her Tiverton needed his help on a special project after hours in a part of the school where students aren't allowed. Sounded real proud, too."

"Hm, that sounds suspicious all right," Tim said. "I think we can guess which corridor he's visiting. Did he say when, Peter?"

"Tomorrow night--at midnight," Peter answered.

"Not much time," Tim observed. "Can we do anything about it?"

"I think so, if we're careful," Ethan answered, the outlines of a plan forming in his mind. "In fact, we have to! You and me, anyway. Marcus and Anne, I think you should stay here--we may need someone to let us out and back in. Peter, we'll need you to come along."

Marcus objected. "Hey, I don't want to stay back here!"

Peter added, "Do you really want me? I don't want to see that Sphinx again!"

Ethan elaborated. "Peter's smaller than you, Marcus. We need him as a lookout. Don't worry, Peter, you won't be seeing any Sphinx!"

"What do you think we _should _do if Tiverton does go past the Sphinx?" Tim asked apprehensively.

"Dunno," Ethan said with a deep sigh. "Haven't really thought that far. I suppose we'll have to try and follow. But I really don't think he'd have bothered any of us if he already knew how to do that."

The next twenty-four hours seemed to take a week. Astronomy observations early Thursday morning deprived them all of a good night's rest. Ethan stumbled through his classes, both drowsy and distracted. Even phys. ed., which was another quidditch scrimmage against Tenskwatawa, couldn't keep his mind off the coming reconnaissance mission. Simon Brocklebank seemed more determined than usual to belittle Ethan and his friends. _Probably getting invited to help Tiverton's gone to his head_, Ethan thought to himself.

Katrina Powles played beater and managed to knock her brother clear off his broom with a bludger near the end of the session. Peter picked himself up and brushed off efforts to assist him. Katrina couldn't resist adding a taunt to the blow.

"There are more like that coming, brother--unless you behave, of course."

Peter glared at her but said nothing.

Ethan turned to Peter and said, "Don't worry about her, she's just jealous you've picked up flying so fast. Her head start's worn off quickly."

This was a heartfelt compliment. Ethan had gotten used to Katrina bullying Peter, but he was also quite impressed by Peter's new-found broom skills.

"Thanks, Ethan," Peter said as they headed back into the school building after phys.ed. But he hurried off alone, ahead of the others, up to Bradbury Tower.

Just after 11:30, Ethan slipped out of his bed and retrieved the amulet from the bottom of his trunk. Tim, Marcus and Peter each emerged from their four-posters in turn, leaving only Kyle snoring peacefully in his bed.

The four of them descended the stairs to the common room, where they found Anne waiting by the door. She opened it as Ethan drew out the amulet.

"Good luck," Marcus whispered.

Ethan was surprised that the chain fit around all three of them. He saw Marcus gaping at their sudden disappearance. Anne waved and swung the door shut.

The school was quiet as death. Ethan found the silence unnerving as they found their way down to the main floor and over to the opposite wing. They saw a number of the ghosts flitting silently above them. More unnerving to Ethan was Peter's obvious terror. Ethan wondered if he'd made a mistake bringing him along.

Near the main entrance, Tim stopped short and the others nearly tripped over him. He pointed and Ethan saw two lanterns seemingly floating near the door. As he focused, he saw that Beadle was letting Standish out of the building. The keeper then swung his lantern around and headed down the hallway to the right. Manfred the crow was perched on his shoulder; as Beadle started down the stair to his quarters, the crow gave one loud "caw!" Beadle looked around suspiciously, shrugged and continued down the stairs.

The three boys continued down to the level where they'd found the Sphinx. As they neared the side hall that led to the room marked with the rune, Ethan saw that the snake statue had been replaced with a figure of a wizard with an oddly reptilian nose and slit-like eyes--Ethan thought the new statue far more sinister than its predecessor.

But he also noticed that the statue, sinister or not, would make an excellent hiding spot.

"Let's wait here and see what happens," Ethan whispered to the others. The three of them huddled between the statue's back and the wall. They could peer out into the hall over the left arm of the wizard.

In the distance a clock struck midnight. Ethan tensed, wondering when Tiverton and Brocklebank would appear. Ten more minutes passed with no activity. Then something stirred down the side hall.

"What was that?" Tim asked. Peter shivered.

"Dunno," said Ethan. Another sound echoed in the hall. This time Ethan was sure it was a footstep.

"There's someone down there, but I can't see anything," Tim said.

"Let's go see, but carefully," Ethan suggested. "Peter, you stay here. If we're not back in ten minutes, head back and tell Marcus."

"You're leaving me here?" Peter said in a forlorn whisper.

"Don't worry," Tim said reassuringly. "You'll be _nearly_ invisible if you stay right here."

"And you might meet the Sphinx again, if you came with us," Ethan reminded him.

"OK," Peter agreed reluctantly. "But hurry back!"

Ethan lifted the chain over Peter's head.

"Now I can't even see you," Peter squeaked. "How will I know where you are?"

"We're just going down across from the door with the rune," Ethan whispered. "I'll whisper when we get back. Now be quiet, Peter, please!"

Ethan and Tim slowly moved down the hall towards the marked door and the noises they'd heard. They stopped on the opposite side of the hall from the door. The lightning bolt rune glowed gold in the dark corridor. Ethan looked back towards Peter, but he couldn't make him out. _That's good,_ he thought. _If I can't see him, nobody else will either_.

Tim tapped him on the shoulder and pointed the other way. A figure holding a lantern was moving slowly down the corridor towards them.

Ethan strained to make out the approaching figure. He waited eagerly to see what Tiverton was up to. But something seemed amiss. The figure was alone. Where was Brocklebank? _Maybe Tiverton decided he couldn't trust him_. Ethan smirked at the thought. But something else bothered him as the figure grew more distinct; this person was definitely too tall to be Tiverton.

With a shock, Ethan recognized who was striding down the corridor towards them. It was a tall, curly-haired wizard with a Roman nose, wearing a burgundy robe. At about the same time, Tim nudged him. Ethan looked at him and each mouthed the name "Bancroft" to each other. Tim was evidently as dumbfounded as Ethan at the appearance of their house master.

Bancroft stopped for a long moment before the rune-marked door. He held his lantern high and looked suspiciously back and forth. Ethan shrank against the wall, as did Tim. He knew Bancroft couldn't see them, but if he tripped over them, they'd be caught just the same.

"All clear, then," Bancroft finally muttered to himself. He continued down the corridor towards its junction with the main hallway. _I hope Peter stays behind that statue_, Ethan thought. He listened to Bancroft's footsteps as they faded into the distance. All seemed quiet once again.

"That was too close!" Tim whispered. "Now what do we do?"

"Wait for Tiverton," Ethan said, sounding more certain than he felt.

"How many teachers do you think are wandering around here?" Tim asked. "Shouldn't we go?"

"Maybe Bancroft just has patrol duty tonight," Ethan suggested. "Tiverton would know that and he'd wait until the coast was clear. We just need to be patient."

As they waited, Ethan contemplated the jagged rune on the door across the way. Anne had told them it was a rune of protection, but what did that mean? He supposed it must protect what was hidden within--the talisman. _But it didn't keep me out, did it?_ As he wondered, Ethan was startled to realize that there was also writing on the door beneath the rune.

He pointed this out to Tim.

"Maybe we just missed it before," Tim said. "After all, we were trying to escape Beadle and the Sphinx at the time."

"No, I looked really hard at the door before any of that happened," Ethan insisted. "There wasn't any other writing then. I want to have a look."

Ethan took out his wand and quietly said "_Lumos_!" The tip of his wand cast a small but bright light.

To his chagrin, Ethan saw that the light wasn't carrying to the door; instead, it seemed to bounce back into his eyes.

"Ethan, cut it out, please!" Tim whispered, holding a hand over his eyes. "You're blinding me!"

"_Nox!_" Ethan said quickly and the light went out.

"Sorry," he said. "That's odd. I wonder, maybe the amulet keeps the light from being seen, too?"

"Well if so, please don't try anything more dangerous while we're wearing it, OK?" Tim said, rubbing his eyes. "I don't want to know what "_Alohomora!_" does when it bounces back at you."

"OK, but I _need_ to read that writing," Ethan said. "Let's take the amulet off for a minute."

"Just for a minute," Tim agreed.

Ethan slipped the amulet off and set it carefully on the floor, then lit his wand tip again. This time the light clearly revealed a single sentence on the door:

_What you fear will be found in here._

"That's helpful!" Tim shrugged. "We already know what's in there. And you'd be nuts not to fear a Sphinx!"

"But is that all it means?" Ethan asked.

The two of them stood looking at the words on the door for a moment.

Then Ethan distinctly heard a squeaky cry at the end of the hallway.

"Out with you!" Bancroft's voice commanded. "Powles, what the devil are you doing skulking around here?"

Ethan and Tim froze. The next moment, Bancroft's lantern was shining down at them. There would be no escape this time.


	16. Over Bog and Under Branch

_Chapter Sixteen_

_Over Bog and Under Branch_

"You two there, don't move!" Bancroft shouted, his wand raised.

As he reached them, he exclaimed in disbelief, "Van der Meulen? Lloyd? Coyote's tail! What is going on?"

Ethan said nothing. He didn't want to look at Bancroft, let alone answer him. In spite of himself he looked up. Bancroft's face was nearly purple with anger, his eyes steely. To the teacher's left, Ethan saw Peter Powles, face beet-red, looking at the floor. But to Ethan's astonishment, he saw that with his right hand Bancroft had gripped another first-year by the shoulder--Simon Brocklebank.

"First I find Mr. Brocklebank wandering about alone, telling a cockamamie story about protecting his house from some sort of raid. And now I find you three in a corridor that's out of bounds to students at any time of day, let alone at this hour of the morning!"

"But, sir," Brocklebank said with a mixture of triumph and pleading in his voice. "That shows I didn't make it up. They are here, after all."

"Nonsense!" Bancroft said. "All it proves is that we have a discipline problem with the first-years in both Bradbury and Tenskwatawa! And in any case, nothing gives you the right to wander the corridors at night, Mr. Brocklebank!"

"Umm, Professor Bancroft," Ethan started, only to have Bancroft hold up his hand to silence him.

"No, Mr. Lloyd, I don't want explanations or excuses! I can see that you and Mr. Van der Meulen feel you have a license to break school rules, but I am deeply disappointed that you would drag young Powles into your mischief!"

Ethan looked down at his shoes. He was truly sorry that he'd asked Peter along that night. But Bancroft had not finished.

"I will, of course, be docking house points--25 each," he said. "And since it seems likely that may not be sufficient to deter future misconduct, you will each receive detention!"

As if this was not enough, the amulet lay on the floor of the corridor, out of Ethan's reach, as Bancroft marched the four of them away.

Ethan felt terrible and his housemates, for the most part, were inclined to make him feel worse. Most of the older Bradburys pretended that he, Tim and Peter didn't exist. Whatever sympathy Tim had garnered after his attack evaporated; most of the other quidditch players referred to him simply as the "sub" and regularly expressed the hope that East would soon be back in form at chaser.

Only Marcus and Anne remained truly friendly with them. Peter was shunned by nearly everyone too, but he also avoided Ethan and Tim. Ethan blamed himself for Peter's retreat inward.

But nothing compared to the guilt he felt about losing his father's amulet. Bancroft never mentioned it and Ethan guessed it had been picked up and disposed of by Beadle. He actually hoped that this had happened; it was preferable to the possibility that Tiverton had found the amulet.

Ethan worried that Tiverton would now have an easier time getting past the Sphinx and after the talisman. But when Anne suggested they continue to try to track the transfiguration teacher's movements, Ethan flatly refused to consider it.

"I've gotten into enough trouble for one year," he asserted. Then he went back to work on his Herbology notebook. And so for nearly two months, Ethan tried to keep his mind off the talisman and focus on school work.

At breakfast one morning in late May, Kenny walked along the Bradbury table and handed small envelopes to Ethan, Tim and Peter. Inside were identical notes that read:

_Your detention has been scheduled  
this evening at 10:00 PM.  
Please meet Mr. Beadle in the Entry Hall._

_Professor Herodotus Bancroft_

Ethan had been so busy and so determined not to cause any more trouble that he had completely forgotten the detention. He wondered what Beadle had for them to do at that late hour.

A few minutes before ten, the three boys said good night to the other first-years and headed down to meet Beadle. Kenny Sturtevant escorted them, as they would be out past curfew.

Beadle was waiting for them, looking more disheveled than usual, Manfred the crow perched on his left shoulder.

"There you go, then," Kenny told his charges. "Do as you're told now and _no_ trouble, eh?"

As Kenny turned to go, a Tenskwatawa proctor came up with Simon Brocklebank in tow. Ethan had completely forgotten that Brocklebank had also earned a detention.

Simon glowered at the others. The proctor whispered something in Simon's ear and departed.

Beadle surveyed the four boys suspiciously, although Ethan could have sworn he winked briefly at him.

"A sorry bunch you are," the Keeper of Buildings said, shaking his head. "You've broken the rules, you have, and we have some serious work for you to do tonight. Let's be off, then."

Beadle grabbed a lantern from the Entry Hall desk and handed it to Simon. He then gave each of the others a lamp. Picking one up for himself, he headed over to the door, opened it and beckoned them out onto the darkened grounds.

"Wh-why are w-we going out h-here?" Peter squeaked as Beadle led them away from the school building.

"We've got a bit of work to do in Spook Woods tonight with Mr. Standish," Beadle answered, smiling unpleasantly. "I suppose you expected you'd be polishing trophies or some such nonsense, eh?"

Peter said nothing more, but Brocklebank spoke up, an unfamiliar note of panic in his voice.

"You're not really taking us in _there_ at night? Students aren't allowed in the Woods...or the Swamp. There are tricksters and vampires!"

Beadle just grunted and continued to lead his detail across the grounds towards Standish's odd little cottage, which stood at the edge of the woods.

When they reached the door, Beadle rapped on the door. A moment later, it swung open and the gnome-like face of Mr. Standish appeared.

"It's about time, Beadle," he said gruffly. "We'd better get started, this could take all night." He shook his head in the students' direction and added, "I daresay these will be more hindrance than help."

"They'll be help enough," Beadle retorted. "Or they'll get another detention to go along with this one. Better tell them what we're after tonight."

Standish stepped out of his cottage and Ethan saw that he carried a crossbow in one hand and an ax in the other. He handed the ax to Beadle.

"There's a herd of _re'em_ in these woods," Standish told them. "You do know what a _re'em_ is, don't you?"

Ethan looked blankly at the grounds keeper.

Tim piped up from his left, "The _re'em_ is a highly magical creature, a sort of huge wild ox with a golden hide, endowed with great strength."

Ethan and Peter looked impressed. Simon harrumphed.

"It's right in _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_," Tim said with a shrug.

"Good enough," Standish said. "Now these ones were brought here by Bradbury himself, they say. And they've flourished for many years. But something's been attacking them the past few weeks. Killed two of them already. Another may have been wounded last night. Headmaster wants us to find it."

"But if they're so strong," Brocklebank asked nervously. "Then whatever's killing them must be even stronger. It'd be crazy to send students in there to find it."

"You'll all be just fine," Beadle said. "As long as you do as you're told. Mr. Standish here knows these woods as well as anyone."

"Now come along, follow me," Standish ordered. Beadle gestured at the students to move forward. Tim went first, Ethan and Peter next. Brocklebank went last and he hung back from the three Bradburys. Beadle walked behind them, the ax swinging gently at his side.

They passed single-file through a corner of the Haunted Swamp that lay between Standish's cottage and the Woods proper. The grounds keeper deftly picked out a dry path through the marshy patches and reeds. Ethan looked to his left and saw what seemed to be flickering blue torches in the distance.

"What are those lights?" he asked, pointing.

"_Feux Follets_, most like," Beadle answered. "Like to lure folks into the swamp to drown."

"_Don't_ look at 'em," Standish barked from the front. Ethan shivered and turned his head forward, but he couldn't shake the image of the blue flames from his mind.

Ahead, the wizened forms of dead trees rose up before them at weird angles, roots drowned in the waterlogged earth. Some leaned at odd angles, some remained upright, and others had fallen to the ground, where they made tricky obstacles for the party.

After ten minutes of clambering over tree trunks, the path cleared again and began to climb, now surrounded by living trees, tall pines interspersed with broad maples and slender birches. The leaves and pine needles of countless years crunched lightly under their feet.

The lanterns now illuminated a forest floor mostly free of shrubs and brush. Walking here was much easier than it had been in the swamp. But soon after they'd reached the woods, Standish stopped and stooped over the path. He then looked from side to side, holding his lantern out into the darkness.

"There's some blood here, Epaphras," he said. "Looks like the critter crossed the path right here. But which way was he going?"

Ethan saw a series of shimmering gold-colored drips across the path. On the left side of the path was a much larger golden pool of the stuff.

Beadle crouched down so that his lantern lit up the ground around the golden pool.

"I'd say it was going this way," he said, pointing ahead of them down the path.

"Maybe, maybe not. Time for us to split up. " Standish replied. Pointing at Peter and Simon, he continued, "You two come with me. Beadle, you take the others along the path."

"Right. Remember, cast red sparks if you run into any trouble."

"And green sparks if we find the _re'em_," Standish added. "Come on, now."

He headed away from the path, most reluctantly followed by Simon and Peter.

This left Ethan and Tim trailing Beadle down the path.

"Mr. Beadle?" Tim asked.

"Yeah?" Beadle said as he moved slowly forward, examining the path in the lantern light.

"I was wondering...what will we do if we _do_ find the _re'em_?"

"Well, that depends on what state we find it in," Beadle replied. "They're intelligent beasts; it'll tolerate our helping it if it's not hurt too bad. Worse comes to worst, we may have to put it out of its misery."

Ethan and Tim shared a look of apprehension. Beadle simply continued down the trail, and they followed.

About ten minutes later, Beadle suddenly sprang up.

"Off the path! Now!" he shouted. Grabbing Tim with one arm and Ethan with the other, he quickly dragged them behind the trunk of a huge sugar maple.

Ethan heard something moving in the darkness across the path. At first he heard leaves crunching under feet, but there was another sound of something gliding over the ground.

After a minute or two, the sounds faded away into the woods.

"What was that, Mr. Beadle?" Ethan asked.

"I don't know and I doubt old Standish would, either," Beadle answered. "I've never heard anything like it in here before."

"Could it have been a trickster?" Tim asked.

"Doubtful," Beadle said. "Woulda sensed our presence and stayed around for some fun. Can't resist it. No, I'd guess that's what's been killing the _re'em_."

Just then red sparks rose high above the trees behind them.

"Standish and the others are in trouble!" Ethan exclaimed.

"Stay here and keep still!" Beadle admonished them as he crashed off through the pathless woods. His step faded into the distance, leaving Ethan and Tim in silence.

"You don't suppose they're hurt?" Tim asked as he looked around nervously.

"They'd better not be," Ethan said earnestly. "I mean, I don't care about Brocklebank, but if that thing got Peter...I mean he's only out here because of me."

Five minutes passed, although Ethan thought it seemed much longer. Beadle reappeared, dragging Brocklebank behind him.

"Change of plans," Beadle said gruffly. "Seems this imbecile wanted to have some fun, grabbed the Powles kid from behind. He set off the sparks before Standish could stop him. So, Van der Meulen, come back with me."

"And you two, don't move and don't talk 'til I get back!" he ordered Ethan and Simon.

Ethan was quite happy not to speak to Brocklebank, who stood sullenly a few feet away. For several minutes they alternately stared at the ground and glowered at each other in silence.

When Beadle returned, he grumpily resumed the search along the trail.

"After that racket, it'll be a wonder if we find anything!" he muttered. "But we've got to get this done tonight!"

As they continued into the woods, the splotches of _re'em_ blood appeared more frequently. Some of the nearby tree trunks were splattered with gold as if the creature had been stumbling along aimlessly.

Presently the trail skirted a small hollow and as they reached it, Ethan looked down and gasped.

Sprawled at the bottom of the slope was the _re'em_ and it was dead. It had apparently collapsed and rolled down into the hollow. Ethan was amazed to see such a powerful beast brought down, its massive legs splayed oddly, unseeing eyes turned to the sky. Ethan thought it strangely beautiful and terribly sad.

Standish cleared his throat and spoke.

"Well, nothing for it but to get Standish over here," he said, turning away from the hollow and taking out his wand.

As he did so, the woods suddenly darkened. Or more precisely, it seemed as though a curtain of blackness fell around the hollow, hiding Beadle from view.

Ethan couldn't hear Beadle either. He glanced at Brocklebank, who looked surprised and frightened.

"What happened? Where'd he go?" Simon asked.

"How should I know?" Ethan said. "Let's try to find him."

They lit their wands and walked in the direction that Beadle had gone a moment earlier. But after two steps they were enveloped in darkness so complete that Ethan could not see Brocklebank's wand a foot to his right.

"Where in Circe's name did you go, Lloyd?" Simon asked loudly.

"I'm right here," Ethan answered. "This is no good. We'll never find anyone in this. Let's go back. Move your wand towards my voice."

Ethan moved his wand towards Simon and eventually the two lit wand tips met. Together they cast just enough light so that the two boys could see each other. They turned around and emerged from the darkness back onto the rim of the hollow.

"What's this all about?" Brocklebank snapped. "What a joke! When my father finds out about this..."

Ethan said nothing, for as he looked down into the hollow he saw a dark, hooded figure kneeling over the fallen _re'em_.

Ethan grabbed Simon's shoulder and pointed into the hollow. The two boys watched, petrified, as the figure sank its teeth into the dead creature's neck. Brocklebank let out a terrible scream and fled back into the darkness.

Ethan remained rooted to the spot, feeling queasy and faint. The figure raised its head and looked up at him, golden drops of _re'em_ blood dripping from its chin. The face was hidden, but for two red, slit-like eyes. Wordlessly it stood and began moving up the hill toward Ethan.

Ethan snapped out of his horrified stupor, turned and ran, not back to the darkness in which Beadle and Brocklebank had disappeared, but deeper into the woods.

Ethan ran, though he had no idea where he was going. The forest seemed even darker and denser now and the trail grew narrow, hemmed in by trees, laurel bushes and brambles. Suddenly, the path came to an end at a steep bank overlooking a small stream.

Ethan didn't know how he'd managed to avoid tumbling down the bank. He leaned against a tall maple at the top of the bank and tried to catch his breath. He wondered what it was that he and Brocklebank had seen. As he stood, panting, he began to hear noises coming up the path towards him. Soon he was certain he could hear footsteps and another noise--the sound of something gliding along the ground, rustling the old leaves. Ethan moved around so that the tree was between him and the path, but he could see no means of escape. The drop off the sheer bank to the rock-strewn stream looked to be about twenty feet. Ethan had never jumped so far in his life, and if he fell in the darkness, he feared he'd never get up. On both sides, thick bushes and brambles blocked the way. It seemed he'd reached a dead end.

The sound of pursuit grew louder. Ethan thought he could make out two red eyes glowing up the path. He steeled himself to jump. Suddenly he heard a voice from somewhere below him.

"Follow us, lad! Quickly, no time to waste!"

Ethan looked around and saw no one, but then he heard the voice once more.

"Down here! Quick, now!"

Ethan looked down and to his amazement, he saw two tiny men, or so they appeared, in the garb of Indian hunters. They beckoned him to follow them through the brambles up along the stream.

With no time to wonder, Ethan did as the small men had urged him. The bushes seemed to move aside as they passed, for Ethan felt no branches or brambles against his arms as he passed.

As he followed the small hunters, the steep bank gave way to a gentle slope. When they reached the water, the two little men jumped into a tiny canoe tethered to a cattail.

"Come on, you too!" one of the men called to Ethan. He hesitated. The canoe was no larger than one of Ethan's shoes.

"But," Ethan began, and then he heard the tramping of feet and a hissing sound back at the end of the path.

"Step inside!" the other tiny man called up to him, and he did. As soon as he stepped towards the canoe, Ethan found that he was just as small as the hunters and could sit in their canoe.

The two small men lifted their paddles and began rowing. But instead of moving down the stream, the canoe rose high into the air. Ethan looked down and saw the dark figure of a man, muffled in a black robe, standing at the end of the path, looking from side to side. Beside the man, Ethan saw what appeared to be the largest snake he had ever seen. The snake was also moving its head back and forth, as if it was trying to catch a scent.

"Do not fear, young one!" one of the rescuers told him. "They cannot find you now."

The canoe moved smoothly through the night sky, now above the highest tree tops. Ethan could see the lights of Kaaterskill in the distance, but his companions were paddling in the opposite direction. So they continued until finally they came to the end of the woods, where the trees gave way to the steep slope of the mountains to the west.

They flew straight towards the mountainside and Ethan saw a cave opening in the rocks.

"Tonight you must stay with us," one of the little men told him as they paddled into the cave. "Woods and swamp will not be safe until the sun rises once again, if then ...especially not for you, Ethan Lloyd."

Ethan started at the sound of his name, but he said nothing, for everything about the men and the cave seemed new and strange to him. Torches lit the cave walls, on which there were drawings of many beasts, some familiar, others fantastic. A fire rose at the far end of the cave, smoke trailing upwards through a hole in the ceiling. Perhaps two dozen other men and women sat or stood around the cave, in dress and stature similar to Ethan's rescuers. Some had been cooking, others drawing or writing on parchment, still others playing a game. In one corner of the cave, an older man and woman, both white-haired, sat together smoking long pipes.

As the canoe set down, all eyes turned to Ethan and his rescuers. The two pipe-smoking elders stood up and walked toward the canoe.

"Greetings, Hunts-After-Dark and Swift-Sky-Paddler," said the white-haired man. "It is well you have returned. But who is this you have brought within our sanctuary, brothers? He is not one of The People. You know it is not our custom to meddle in the affairs of the Big Folk in these latter days."

"We well know our customs, wise father," answered the one who had beckoned Ethan into the canoe. "But is it not also our custom to succor those in dire danger? Swift-Sky-Paddler saw that this lad was pursued by a great evil, one with strong _otgon_. Had we not taken him in, he would certainly have been killed."

"Surely our wise father perceives that this is the Lloyd boy," said the other rescuer. "We could not leave him to the evil that pursued him."

"Swift-Sky-Paddler, you may be right," said the woman elder. "But it is not our place to meddle in business of humans, especially not wizards."

"Nevertheless, we will not turn him out now that he is among us," the old man said as he turned to Ethan. "Come young one, sit with us, eat and rest, you are safe among the _Jo-Ge-Oh_."

Ethan stepped forward timidly and followed the old man towards the far end of the cave. Near the fire, all of the _Jo-Ge-Oh_ formed a circle and sat. Ethan found a place with Hunts-After-Dark and Swift-Sky-Paddler to his right. The old man who had spoken to Ethan stood to his left.

"I am Raven Man and this is Badger Woman," he said. "Welcome to the circle of the _Jo-Ge-Oh_, Ethan Lloyd."

"Thank you, sir," Ethan answered tentatively. Turning to his right, he addressed his rescuers, "And thank you from saving me back there. But who are you? Who was hunting me? And how do you know who I am?"

Raven Man looked keenly at Ethan, his eyes twinkling in his wizened face.

"So many questions, young one," he chuckled at last. "Patience! I see that the _orenda_ grows strong within you. Many answers will come to you and we will give you those we can."

"But first, take your ease and eat with us," Badger Woman said kindly. Then Raven Man gestured with his right hand and a fine feast appeared before the company. Ethan hesitated at first, for the fare was far different from what he'd become used to at Kaaterskill. But he suddenly felt famished from his ordeal. There were all kinds of roasted meats--venison, bear, goose and pheasant-- and poached fish, succotash, squash, fresh berries and frybread. Ethan ate his fill, talked little but listened to the conversations around him with great interest.

Some talked of family matters, the courtship of young people or the success of hunting expeditions.

Others discussed the alignment of stars and planets and the portents for the peoples of the Earth, big and small. And Ethan could tell that his arrival figured in some of these conversations. Every now, one of his hosts would cast a glance in his direction or gesture towards him as they talked.

"If he is the one foretold, then dark times are coming," said an elderly man to Ethan's right.

"Dark times, perhaps," answered Swift-Sky-Paddler. "But is that the lad's fault? And is it not also foretold that the dark may pass again?"

"So it is," the older man conceded. "Yet not even the wise can say how many moons will pass before that day arrives. And it is not our place to interfere in the quarrels of wizards."

"I do not claim to see why this lad was sent into our path," Swift-Sky-Paddler said. "But once we saw him, we had to choose. We took him in and you say we interfered. Had we seen him and not acted, would you say we had taken the side of his pursuer?"

"You may be right, Swift-Sky-Paddler," the other said. "But if the stars decree that the _Jo-Ge-Oh_ become entangled in this dispute, then I tremble for our world."

"If the stars foretell that our people must take sides, then I know who I will stand with and which side I must oppose," Swift-Sky-Paddler. "All wizards are not cut from the same cloth. We could sense the _otgon_ of him who sought the young one in the Woods."

Ethan pondered these words in his heart, wondering what they might mean, but still he said nothing. Some time later--it may have been one hour or many, Ethan could not say--members of the circle began to arise, one or two at a time, and retire to smaller chambers arranged around the edges of the cave.

Ethan didn't feel sleepy, but Raven Man stood and beckoned to him.

"Come, young master, now you must rest 'til morning. Then we will return you to your school."

Raven Man led Ethan towards the back of the cave and into a chamber lit by two candles. On the ceiling, a painting of a starlit sky glittered in flickering light. Along the wall a shelf seemingly carved out of the stone held a pallet and pillow.

"I know you find this a strange place to sleep, Ethan Lloyd," Raven Man said. "But be easy, empty your mind of all thought and you will awaken refreshed."

"I don't want to be impolite," Ethan said. "But I don't think I could sleep; there are so many questions in my mind."

"Ah, I see, young one," Raven Man replied. "And I am not surprised. Ask, then. I will answer as I am able."

"Who are the _Jo-Ge-Oh_, father?"

"We are an ancient people, beings sent here as guardians, to watch over humans and to share with some of them knowledge of certain things," said Raven Man.

"What things?"

"Ah, that depends on the person and the time," Raven Man answered. "Mostly we teach of the land and of the gifts to be found in plants that nourish and heal."

"But how do you know who should be taught?"

"Much is written in the stars above our heads," Raven Man said, gesturing toward the sparkling ceiling of the cave. "The _Jo-Ge-Oh_ read the heavens for a guide. In truth it has been many years since we have had dealings with humans."

"Some of your people seem to think the stars say you should not have taken me in," Ethan observed. "You seem to know a lot about me. Can you read anything in the heavens about me?"

"You must understand that the tale told in the stars is not written plainly," Raven Man said with a sigh. "Even the wise may not discern its meaning easily. That is why we are reluctant to take sides in your human wars. I can see that you have a part to play in a great struggle among the wizards. But how your part plays out is not yet revealed to me."

"But Swift-Sky-Paddler said he knew that I was being chased by a very evil person," Ethan said. "He said he had to interfere, either by saving me or leaving me there in the Woods for...for who ever it was to find me. And he said he knows which side he would fight on in this quarrel."

"Swift-Sky-Paddler is a brave hunter with strong _orenda_," Raven Man explained. "It appears to me that the heavens decreed that he should be given the choice you describe, which means that the _Jo-Ge-Oh_ are meant to be involved in this matter."

"And is that a bad thing?" Ethan asked.

"Is it bad, young one? It is never a bad thing to be given a choice," Raven Man answered with a smile. "And to make the right choice is a good and noble act. But taking the right path does not mean one can know all of the consequences that may lie at the path's end."

"Is that why some of your people are worried that I'm here?"

"They know that the _Jo-Ge-Oh _were created to be guardians of the earth for humans--magical or not," said Raven Man more gravely. "But we have been in the Fading Time for many generations now, for few humans are able to see us and accept our teaching. And we know that it is foretold that our time here will end when we become entangled in human conflicts."

"But who _was _following me in the Woods?" Ethan asked. "And who is attacking the re'em?"

"Do you know the qualities of re'em blood, young one?" Raven Man asked.

Ethan shook his head.

"To the one who drinks the blood of a re'em is given unnatural strength," Raven Man answered sadly. "But one who gains physical power in this way sacrifices part of his soul, his inner self, in the bargain."

"Who would wish to make such a bargain?" Ethan asked.

"Do you not know of one? One who has spent many years seeking power beyond that of the greatest wizard?"

Ethan remembered what Professor Bancroft had told the class earlier in the year: _There are many evil powers in this world and some sleep for centuries unknown to humans. About fifteen years ago, Hafgan learned of such a power hidden in a magical place._ And then Bancroft had said, _Hafgan simply vanished, as completely as Voldemort himself, so it would seem_.

"You mean that...that was Hafgan?" Ethan gasped.

"And do you know what is being guarded in your school at this moment, young one?"

"The talisman..."

"With which he could unleash a power so great that it can destroy men by its very presence," Raven Man said. "A power that he believes he can now control, as he could not 14 years ago."

"But even if Hafgan gained the strength of the re'em," Ethan thought out loud, "how could that help him to..."

But just then Badger Woman entered the alcove. Raven Man looked up at her.

"The council awaits you, Raven Man," she said. "We cannot start without you."

"I will be right along," Raven Man told her and then he turned to Ethan. "_Dah-neh hoh!_ I am sorry, young one, no more answers tonight. Lie down and take your rest."

"I still don't know how I can sleep," Ethan said. "Can't I come along with you?"

"No, no, the council is for _Jo-Ge-Oh_ only," Raven Man said. "And as for sleep, those whose heart is true always rest well in our cave. Good night; when Brother Sun returns, I will greet you again."

"Good night, Raven Man," Ethan said, still reluctant, as the old man headed back to the fire circle.

Ethan crawled up onto the pallet, laid down and looked over toward the fire, where a few of the _Jo-Ge-Oh_ were gathered around Raven Man and Badger Woman. Ethan felt his eyelids grow heavy in spite of himself. Soon his eyes closed and he slept.

When he awoke, the sun was streaming into the cave from the east. He sat up and stretched. He felt rested and refreshed and he couldn't remember a single dream.

As he stood up, Raven Man strode up.

"And did you sleep well, young one?" he asked, eyes twinkling.

"Yes, thank you, I did," Ethan replied.

"Come, wash and then break your fast with us," Raven Man said. "We must return you to Professor Flyte's school this morning. There are many there who are greatly concerned about you."

Breakfast with the _Jo-Ge-Oh_ was again different. Ethan ate dried fruits and pemmican and drank a sort of tea made from herbs.

When all had finished eating, Badger Woman spoke.

"Now, Ethan Lloyd, we must send you back whence you came," she told him. "You must go once again with Swift-Sky-Paddler and Hunts-After-Dark. I know you are refreshed, but I fear that they are not used to rising so early."

Ethan looked over and saw that the two _Jo-Ge-Oh_ who had rescued him did look rather groggy.

"Come then, lad," Swift-Sky-Paddler said with a yawn. "We must take you in the canoe as we brought you. And we must take care not to be seen."

Ethan stepped back into the canoe between his two guides. As they made ready to paddle out of the cave, Raven Man spoke once again.

"Go well, Ethan Lloyd. Remember that you were fated to meet us here. My heart tells me that the stars are not wrong; you have great tasks before you, if you choose to take them on. Be stout of heart."

Ethan bowed, but said nothing. As the canoe gained speed, he waved at the _Jo-Ge-Oh_. They faded into the distance as the paddlers propelled the canoe over the woods and the swamp. They brought the canoe down near the ground and skimmed past the quidditch pitch. Even the blades of grass looked big to Ethan now. Finally, the canoe came to a halt near the far corner of the Kaaterskill greenhouses.

"This is where we leave you, lad," Swift-Sky-Paddler told him, clapping Ethan on the shoulder. "You are safe now. And do not fear for us. It has been many years since we have done our part in your world. But we will not shrink from what should be done."

Ethan thanked them and stepped out of the canoe. Suddenly he towered over the tiny craft, which was already heading back toward the Woods.

Ethan leaned against the greenhouse for a moment, unused to being his normal size again. He checked his watch; it was just after 8 o'clock. He headed along the path from the greenhouses back to the school building.

As he went, he passed knots of students heading out to Herbology class. Some pointed at Ethan; others seemed to be staring at him. He didn't think much about this. After all, he was used to such attention by now.

But when he got into the school building and headed towards Bradbury Tower, he heard a sudden shriek across the corridor and saw a flash of red approaching from his left.

"Ethan, where have you been?" Anne Findlay exclaimed, and she threw her arms around him. "Everyone's worried sick about you!"

Ethan flushed, for he was quite unused to being spontaneously hugged by a girl. He struggled to see, his vision obscured by Anne's long red hair. She let go as quickly as she'd embraced him, standing back and looking somewhat embarrassed.

Now Ethan could see that Tim, Maddie and Marcus were also standing, staring at him.

"Well, what happened?" Marcus asked. "You can't just disappear in the Woods in the middle of the night and then show up a week later acting as if nothing happened."

"What do you mean a week?" Ethan asked, thoroughly confused. "The detention was last night. I got separated from the others and someone...or something...was hunting me and then I saw these little people and they took me away with them to a cave last night and brought me back here this morning."

"Well, I hate to have to correct you, man," Tim said, looking quite as dumbfounded as any of them. "But it's been a week since Beadle managed to lose you. The teachers have been taking turns searching the Woods and the Swamp for you. We'd all just about given up hope."

Ethan wondered how the night he'd spent with the _Jo-Ge-Oh_ had turned into a week. But he didn't have much time to think about it, for at that moment Kenny Sturtevant spied the group around him and hurried over.

"Lloyd, I don't believe it, where've you been?" he said, his expression combining relief and exasperation. "You'd better come with me to see the Head. The rest of you, go on, you'll be late for class."

Ethan had never been to the Headmaster's office; he didn't even know where it was.

He followed Kenny as he led him up to the second floor, then down a corridor opposite the library. They stopped at a statue of a somewhat rakish looking wizard.

"They don't usually give all of the proctors the password," Kenny remarked. "But Flyte wanted anyone with news of you to come straight to him. "_Spring Surprise_."

A door materialized in the blank wall next to the statue. It opened and Kenny entered. Ethan followed. They seemed to be in a rather small closet. The door shut behind them, and then another door opened to the left. As they stepped through the second door, Ethan felt the floor below him move, rather like an escalator only without stairs. The floor stopped in front of a large desk. Cyrus Flyte was sitting at the desk. He looked at Kenny and Ethan, then sprang up and came over to them.

"Ah, Mr. Sturtevant...and Mr. Lloyd. Excellent! The wanderer has returned," Flyte said, eyeing Ethan gravely.

Flyte betrayed no sign of surprise at the boys' arrival. Ethan wondered whether the headmaster had been expecting him.

"He'd just wandered into the main hallway when I spotted him, sir," Kenny said. "I knew you'd want to see him right away."

"Yes, quite right, Mr. Sturtevant," Flyte said. "Good work! 25 points to Bradbury! Now, if you'll excuse us, I need to have a few words with Mr. Lloyd here in private."

"Yes, sir," Kenny replied. "Thank you, sir."

Ethan thought Kenny looked a bit disappointed as the moving floor took him out of the room. The door shut behind him and Ethan turned back to the headmaster's desk. As he did, he took a good look around Flyte's office, which was the most curious and wondrous room Ethan had ever seen. It was circular with a high ceiling, above which a skylight admitted the bright morning sunshine. About a dozen portraits hung on the walls, most of elderly wizards with just a few distinguished-looking witches mixed in. Right behind Flyte's desk was a large fireplace. The desk itself was covered with papers on one side and several odd-looking instruments, all cogs and gears, on the other. Opposite the desk was a large window in front of which was a table with more curious machines.

"Please sit down, Ethan," Flyte said. Ethan settled into the armchair in front of the desk.

"You _have_ managed to give your friends quite a scare these last few days," the headmaster observed. Yet you don't really look much the worse for wear. Can you tell me what you've been up to?"

"I'll try, sir," Ethan answered. "But I'm afraid I'll raise more questions than I can answer."

"Go ahead, then," Flyte said. "There's nothing like a good mystery, eh?"

So Ethan launched into his tale: the search for the re'em; how Beadle had been separated from Ethan and Simon; the dark figure feeding on _re'em_ blood; Simon's flight and Ethan's desperate attempt to escape from whoever had killed the re'em; the sudden appearance of the _Jo-Ge-Oh_ and Ethan's inexplicable shrinking to fit into the canoe ("Ah, of course!" Flyte murmured at this point); and the strange but wonderful night and morning he had spent in the cave with the little people.

"And as soon as they'd left me out by the greenhouses, I came into school and Anne found me and then Kenny came along and here I am," Ethan finished. "It seems to me that it was just one night, but everyone I've seen says it's been a week!"

"On that point, at least, I think you've given enough information to explain the discrepancy," Flyte told him. "You have been with the _Jo-Ge-Oh_ and their time doesn't flow at the same rate as ours does. Why, I had a friend many years ago who spent a week in their company. When he returned to our world, nearly ten years had passed. He always insisted he'd learned more in a week with the _Jo-Ge-Oh_ than he would have in the ten years he'd missed."

"Well, sir," Ethan said hesitantly. "It seemed they knew an awful lot about me, but they didn't share very much of it."

"Do not take that too personally," Flyte told him. "The _Jo-Ge-Oh_ know much of our world and the people in it, but in a limited way. They read the heavens with a skill that has eluded the best of our Seers. But the heavens only sketch the outlines of story. So the _Jo-Ge-Oh_, for all of their subtlety, can not know how we may fill in the details with our choices."

Ethan remembered Raven Man's words about his choices and suddenly thought of Hafgan.

"But Professor," Ethan began urgently. "Raven Man seemed to think..."

But he didn't finish the sentence. For some reason he wanted to keep the fact that Hafgan had been hunting him, Ethan, to himself for the moment.

"Yes?" Flyte asked.

Flustered for just a moment, Ethan quickly added, "Well, he said that there was a great struggle coming among wizards."

"Indeed?" Flyte answered with a bemused expression. "Although I hardly think it necessary to consult the heavens to learn that bit of news."

"And he said _I_ have a part to play," Ethan added hastily.

"Did he?" Flyte said, looking up at Ethan. "Well, that is more interesting, isn't it? Is there anything else you'd like to tell me?"

"No, sir. That was all," Ethan said

Flyte gave him a searching look. But he said, "Well, you look to be sound as well as safe. So I would ask that you return to your dormitory, gather up your books and go to your next class. Under the circumstances, you will not be held responsible for your absences this past week, but I should expect you'll have a good deal of catching up to do."

"Yes, sir," Ethan said. "Thank you."

"Well, off you go, then," Flyte said.

"Yes, sir," Ethan said again. He rose to leave and the floor began to convey him back to the door.

As he departed, Flyte called after him, "And Ethan, do be careful."

The door shut behind him and he was again in the small entry. He opened the door and found himself back in the hall next to the statue of the rakish wizard.

The corridor was quiet. Ethan glanced at his watch. Everyone was in their first period class. He dashed back to Bradbury Tower. On the way, he realized that he still wasn't sure whether it was Thursday or Friday--it depended on when everyone started counted him as missing. When he reached the Dutchman's portrait, he decided to check.

"Pahssvord?" the old soldier asked.

"What day of the week is it?" Ethan asked.

"Hmm? What day..?" the Dutchman muttered. "Vhy...can't you even keep track of time anymore? It's Friday, of course."

"Thanks," Ethan said, adding the password. "_Hermes Trismegistus_."

Having cleaned up and put on fresh clothes, Ethan still had a half hour to spare before Potions. He wanted to give his classmates as little opportunity to comment on his absence as possible, so he hurried down to the dungeons early. He lurked down the hall from Renfro's classroom, behind a statuary group of the Van Wagenens, the first European wizards to settle west of the Mississippi.

When Ethan had seen 19 students enter the classroom, he dashed out from behind the statues and through the door.

Renfro was standing next to the door, about to shut it. He gave Ethan a look of mild surprise, raised and eyebrow and said, "Mr. Lloyd, how nice of you to visit with us this morning. Please check with your classmates on the assignments you've missed. I will expect them completed by Monday morning, including one flask of the Calming Potion, which the rest of the class will complete today."

Nineteen heads turned to the door. A few students gasped, others muttered and the room dissolved into excited discussion.

Ethan felt his face flush. Tim waved and motioned to an empty seat on his bench. As Ethan sank onto the bench, he noticed Simon Brocklebank smirking at him from across the room.

Tim must have noticed it as well. He whispered to Ethan," "It didn't take long for him to get his swagger back. You should have seen what a whimpering mess he was when we found him in the Woods."

Renfro silenced the room quickly and the students busied themselves with their Calming Potions. Ethan discovered that making the potion was a three-day process, which meant that he would have to come in over the weekend to finish his work by Monday.

Ethan managed to finish the first phase of the potion by the end of class. Renfro spent the last few minutes of the session inspecting the other students' finished products. His comments weren't encouraging.

"Miss Findlay, the finished potion should be a golden hue; as yours is tan, I deduce that you must have added the juniper berries before the powdered unicorn horn."

Marcus's potion passed muster, as did Tim's, though not without comment.

"You want to stir your dried ingredients in more completely, Van der Meulen. This will be useless in a few hours when it comes out of solution again."

Renfro took one look at the thickish black liquid in Peter's flask and laughed unpleasantly.

"Powles, what _is_ this? Not only have you had it over the fire too long, you seem to have left out the pleurisy root entirely."

When Ethan, Anne and Tim left the room, they found that Katrina Powles gloating over her twin's failure.

"Peter, why not face the fact that you're going to be a failure as a wizard? Can't even do a simple Calming Potion right!"

"Leave him alone!" Ethan shouted. "Just because you're his sister, you've got no right to treat him the way you do. Now clear out!"

"So Mr. Do-gooder Lloyd thinks he knows what little Peter deserves, does he?" Katrina said mockingly. "But brave Ethan doesn't really know you as well as me, does he, Peter? Thinks you haven't done anyone any harm, he does. Feels bad you got caught out after hours on his account."

"Shut up, Katrina!" Peter said with a tone of desperation in his voice. "Don't..."

Katrina ignored him. "We know better, don't we, brother? We know you set the trap by telling him that story about Simon helping Professor Tiverton on a secret mission, don't we?"

"What are you talking about?" Ethan asked, suddenly confused.

"Oh yes, Peter convinced you that he really overheard Simon and me discussing it, as if we'd ever let him hear anything important! And everything would have gone just fine for dear Peter if you hadn't decided to take him along. No, little Peter hasn't been nice at all to his housemates, has he? Doesn't really deserve their sympathy, does he?"

At this Peter burst into tears and dashed up the stairs out of the dungeon.

Katrina turned to Ethan and continued.

"You and your friends are way too gullible, Lloyd! You and my dear brother deserve each other!"

With that she sauntered up the stairs with Brocklebank and the others, all laughing derisively.

Ethan stood there, too stunned to move.

Anne whistled and said, "My, we have been careless, haven't we?"

Tim looked at Marcus, who had come out of class just behind them. Neither said a word, but Ethan could tell both were angrier than he'd ever seen them. Ethan couldn't remember Tim being really angry before. Marcus had a bit of a quick temper, it was true. But the look of cold fury in their eyes frightened Ethan. He didn't really know whether he was angry himself. He mainly felt as though all the air had been let out of him.

"Well?" Tim asked Marcus.

"Let's go get him!" Marcus answered.

The two of them sprinted up the stairs and out of sight.

"We'd better go after them, Ethan," Anne said, sounding worried. "They may do something they'll regret."

"What? Oh, yeah, you're probably right."

"Well, come on then!" Anne said, heading up the stairs at a brisk run. Ethan followed her, dodging knots of students in the main hall, then taking the familiar but roundabout route up to Bradbury Tower. They reached the Dutchman and shouted "_Hermes Trismegistus_!" loudly.

"Nobody has any manners today!" the Dutchman grumbled as the portrait hole opened. Ethan and Anne dashed through and looked about hurriedly.

"They went that way!" a fifth-year boy Ethan didn't even know told them pointing at the stairs to the boys' dorms.

"Well, good luck, Ethan!" Anne said. "I'm afraid I can't join you."

So Ethan ran up the stairs to the first-year boys' dorm alone. As he reached the door, he saw that Tim and Marcus had pinned Peter against the wall. He was struggling a bit, but seemed to realize there was no escape.

"You! You rat!" Tim sputtered. "How could you betray us like that?"

"But you don't understand," Peter whimpered. "She's my sister. I couldn't say no to her; she knows me too well. She can make my life miserable and not just at school!"

"I bet we can give her a run for her money on that," said Marcus coldly, his face inches away from Peter's. He held the smaller boy in his left hand. His right hand was drawn back in a fist. Tim had his wand out and pointed at Peter.

Peter turned slightly to face Ethan, teary eyes full of fear.

"Believe me, Ethan, I never wanted to do it," he said. "I felt awful about the whole business, honest! And not just because Bancroft caught me too."

"But you _did_ do it, Peter," Ethan said, still feeling hollow inside rather than angry.

"She's been lying about me to Mom and Dad all year," Peter said. "And they believe her...they always have. She promised she'd stop if I did what she wanted."

"She won't stop though, you know," Ethan said.

"Have you come up with a good jinx yet, Tim?" Marcus interrupted. "'cause if you haven't I'll just break his nose!"

"I don't know any that'll hurt him that much," Tim admitted. "I think I can do a Bat Bogey Hex, though."

"After I'm done with him, he's yours!" Marcus exclaimed.

"Please! Don't hurt me!" Peter pleaded.

As Marcus aimed his fist at Peter's nose, Ethan shouted, "No! Leave him be!"

Marcus and Tim looked at him in surprise.

"Ethan, he could have gotten us both expelled!" Tim said.

"I know," Ethan said quietly. "But we didn't get expelled, did we? And if you beat him up, you'll just be doing Katrina's work for her--and Brocklebank's. Don't you think she expected us to react this way?"

"Well, that doesn't mean he doesn't deserve it," Marcus protested.

"He may well. But I know I've deserved a lot of punishments and I've been given a lot of second chances," Ethan insisted. "Haven't you? I don't want Brocklebank's gang thinking they can divide us that easily."

He turned to Peter.

"Listen, Peter, I know what it's like to be bullied. You can stand up to her, no matter what she tells your parents. You're a better person than she is and you're going to be a better wizard than anyone gives you credit for. Promise me you'll let us help you!"

Looking amazed, Peter said, "I promise, Ethan! I won't ever let her turn me against you guys again."

Marcus and Tim finally let Peter go and he stood on his own, rubbing his wrists.

"You two," Ethan said to Tim and Marcus. "Agree not to hold grudges against him, OK? We have to be on the same side or we won't get anywhere!"

"OK, Ethan, if that's what you want," Tim said.

"Agreed," Marcus said. "Sorry, man, emotions got the best of me."

When Kyle entered the room, he looked a bit crestfallen to find the other four boys lounging on their beds as if nothing had happened.

"Someone said there was a fight going on up here," he said. "I didn't believe them."

"Good for you," Ethan said, looking up from his Charms textbook. "We'll always be together in whatever fights we find!"

All of them laughed and allowed that that was the truth.

When Ethan climbed into his bed later that night, he glimpsed something under the pillow. There in a large envelope was the amulet of invisibility, along with a note: _Perhaps you'll find this useful after all._


	17. Beyond the Sphinx

_Chapter Seventeen_

_Beyond the Sphinx_

Ethan spent much of the ensuing weekend catching up on the work he'd missed, but he found time to tell Tim, Anne and Marcus the full story of his narrow escape in the woods. They sat up late Sunday evening in the common room, eagerly discussing and dissecting the entire affair.

"What it means is that Tiverton's trying to get the talisman for Hafgan, like we thought," Ethan said as he stared into the dying embers of the fire. "And we know that Hafgan's working for Voldemort..."

"Don't say the name!" Marcus grumbled and looked around as if he thought Ethan might conjure up the real Voldemort out of thin air.

"...but now we know that Hafgan's right here in the forest. So it's more important than ever that we stop Tiverton," Ethan continued, oblivious to Marcus' protest.

"You don't suppose that...that Hafgan will try again to...well, to kill you?" Tim asked uncertainly.

"I expect he will," Ethan said. "For all I know, the stars may say he'll kill me in the end. Some of the _Jo-Ge-Oh_ seem to think so. But I'm not going to just sit around waiting for him to do it. The important thing is that life won't be worth living if Voldemort gets the thing that the talisman controls."

"Will you _please_ stop saying the name?" Marcus snapped.

Anne had stayed uncharacteristically silent but finally added a word that was meant to be encouraging.

"Raven Man let on that you have a role to play, Ethan, and Flyte said that was interesting, right?"

"Yeah, he did," Ethan confirmed.

"Well, I doubt they'd say those things if they thought Hafgan would bump you off a few days or weeks later. And besides, Kaaterskill is probably one of the safest places in our world, and Flyte's a great wizard. I'll bet as long as Flyte's here even You-Know-Who wouldn't dare to touch you."

It was after midnight when they finally went to bed, tired and hoarse. Ethan awoke several times, vaguely aware that his old dreams of danger in the forest had merged with his more recent nightmares about what he'd seen in the Vases.

As the last few weeks of class passed, Ethan had to admit that there was no sign that Tiverton had managed to outwit the Sphinx and capture the talisman.

Then in mid-June, final exams arrived along with a wave of uncommonly hot, humid weather on the normally cool mountain top.

At the last school assembly before exams, Cyrus Flyte urged them all to "finish up strong!"

"Says that every year," Kenny Sturtevant whispered to Ethan across the Bradbury table. "And you know, somehow we always do."

Ethan and his classmates took written exams in all their subjects in a large classroom on the second floor. The windows seemed to have been painted shut, so the students struggled through the sweltering heat to complete the tests. All the exam parchments had been treated with an Anti-Plagiarism spell, as had the quills.

There were practical exams in every core subject but History of Magic. In Charms, each student had to make a knife and fork dance a waltz across Professor O'Loughlin's desk.

The Herbology and Potions practicals were combined, as each student made a potion using the plants they had raised in Crockett's class. Those whose plants were weak or sickly naturally started from a disadvantage. Despite all distractions, Ethan had managed to bring his _Mimulus Cupriphilus_ up to a fine, healthy state with numerous yellow blossoms. Renfro provided the instructions for the _Virtus Virtutis_ potion, which used both the blossoms and stems of _Mimulus_.

"If by some strange chance you succeed, Lloyd, you will have a potion that will give you the courage to face any fear you can name," Renfro told him as he gave him the list of ingredients. "And if your finished product passes muster, you may keep one vial of the potion for your own use."

After two hours of careful work, Ethan stoppered a vial of the shimmering, honey-colored liquid in his cauldron and turned it over to Crockett and Renfro for inspection. He had developed a liking for the strange little plant. Perhaps that had inspired his work on the potion, or perhaps it was the promise that he might gain a vial of liquid courage.

The professors called the students up one at a time after the exam and evaluated their potions. Half the class had received their grades and left the room before Ethan heard his name called. Renfro's face betrayed no sign of his judgment. Crockett wore his usual look of gruff disdain, but Ethan had come to know this did not necessarily relate to his opinion of one's work.

"Well, well, Mr. Lloyd, it appears I may have underestimated you," Renfro told him. "Either that or you've an extraordinarily lucky day. While I think you may have added a bit more borage leaf than was necessary, you're potion is more than acceptable."

The potions teacher handed the vial back to Ethan, who was speechless for a moment.

"Thank you, sir," he finally stammered.

"Don't let it go to your head," Crockett muttered. "And take care you use that potion. It's for serious use and it keeps for years. Don't waste it on your next exam...and don't use it all at once. A teaspoon will do nicely. Lasts about a day."

"Yes, sir. Thanks," Ethan said.

"Well, go on Lloyd, there are others waiting," Crockett said. "Go clean up! Who's next, Paris?"

Ethan found it a bit wrenching to have to make the remainder of the potion vanish. But once he'd tidied his area up quite well, he fairly skipped out of the potions classroom. He'd carefully wrapped the vial of _Virtus Virtutis_. Back in the dorm, he stowed it in the bottom of his trunk, next to the amulet.

As the first-years compared notes that evening at dinner, Ethan found he was one a very few who'd done well enough to keep their potions. Anne had failed spectacularly to create a cleansing potion from singing soapwort.

"He told me I'd better not try washing my mouth out with it," she said gloomily. "Then he vanished it."

"Well, it's a good thing my practical came out well," Ethan told the others. "I really blew the written."

"After I coached you for three nights running?" Tim said with a look of mock exasperation.

"Well that helped, but only so much," Ethan confided. "Once I was in the exam room, with Renfro looking over everyone's shoulders, I kind of panicked."

The very last exam for the first-years was History of Magic. Ethan was sure he'd aced it. He'd studied just the right notes for the multiple choice section. Then he'd chosen two essay topics from a list of four: "Discuss the motivations behind wizard immigration to western North America in the 17th century" and "The Quodpot betting scandal of 1923 had profound effects on magical sports and wizarding politics. Explain and relate."

When he turned in his parchment and headed out of the classroom, Ethan could see Tim was still writing. Anne looked as though she was desperately hoping for inspiration, resting her head on one hand and staring at the ceiling.

Ethan headed back to Bradbury Tower, but he had barely turned into the next corridor when he heard an odd noise in a nearby classroom. Was it someone sobbing? Ethan walked warily up to the partially open door. The room seemed empty, but he heard the noise again and decided to listen from behind the door.

Someone spoke.

"No, please don't do that...I can do it soon...Does it have to be now? All right, all right, I will!"

A moment later, Roscoe Skryme hurried out of the classroom and down the hall without noticing Ethan. He looked troubled.

Ethan ducked his head into the classroom, but saw no one. Who had Skryme been talking to? There was an open door at the other end of the room. _Tiverton probably slipped out that way_! Ethan thought to himself.

When he got back to the common room, Ethan was bursting to tell someone what he'd overheard. His classmates were not back from the exam yet. But Kenny Sturtevant was relaxing in an armchair just outside the proctor's lounge.

"Hullo, Ethan! Done at last?" the proctor asked him. "Did you finish up strong?"

"Hi, Kenny! Actually, yeah, I think I did. But there's something I need to talk to you about. Um, alone?"

"Sure," Kenny replied, looking surprised. "Come on into the lounge."

They sat down and Ethan told Kenny what he'd overheard and what he thought it meant.

Kenny furrowed his brow.

"You really have a way of finding trouble, don't you, Ethan?" he said. "Can I ask whether you've ever found any concrete reason to suspect Tiverton wants to steal whatever the Sphinx is guarding?"

Ethan thought for a moment. He realized that he'd never fully confided in Kenny about his visits to the Vases of Artephius. But he decided there was no way to explain his fears about Tiverton without telling the tale. He took a deep breath and launched into the story.

"So I've seen--and felt--what they were trying to release from Table Mountain," he said. "It would make dementors and Death Eaters seem like minor distractions. And I know Hafgan's lurking out in Spook Woods, using the _re'em_ blood to get stronger. He knows what's here and he wants it. But he needs an insider to do the job. I've heard Tiverton threaten Skryme twice now. I'm sure it was Tiverton who tried to crush Anne and me with that statue. Oh, and Tiverton just happened to be doing research in Albania at the same time they think Voldemort was hiding there. You told us that yourself."

"Yeah, I remember," Kenny said. "But I heard a rumor since then that the Hogwarts teacher he was with later tried to kill Harry Potter for You-Know...I mean V-v-voldemort."

Kenny paused. He sighed, cleared his throat and continued. "All year Flyte and Bancroft have been telling us not to be afraid to say that name! Bancroft told me that if anyone needs to be able to say it, it's me. And I still can't get through it without sounding like some kind of idiot! But it doesn't bother you."

At this, Kenny's eyes watered up. He quickly pulled out a handkerchief and wiped them.

"I guess I just don't know any better," Ethan said, taken aback.

"No, that's good!" Kenny said, blowing his nose. "Don't mind me. I guess it's just that it's that time of year. It was fourteen years ago today."

"What was fourteen years ago?" Ethan asked, confused and completely off his original subject. "And why does Bancroft especially want _you_ to say Voldemort's name?"

"Fourteen years since I lost my family," Kenny answered. "Every year the anniversary comes just as school ends. Every year I go back to my aunt and uncle for the summer."

"What happened to your family, Kenny?" Ethan asked, not sure that he really wanted to hear the answer.

"I don't know myself. I was only two," Kenny said quietly. "V-v-voldemort's people killed them all: my father, mother, two brothers and sister. If I'd been home at the time, I would have been killed too. But I was with a baby sitter that day and they hadn't come to get me when it happened."

Ethan didn't know what to say. All he could do was speak the one word that filled his mind: "Why?"

"Why? They killed my dad because he was an Auror, like your parents. I don't know why they killed the rest. Didn't want witnesses, maybe? Or to intimidate those who stood up to them?" Kenny spoke slowly, as if he'd thought fruitlessly about this question many times. "Or maybe they just liked killing."

"I barely remember any of them," he continued sadly. "I do have some photos. Here, have a look. There's Mom and Dad. And this is my sister Maggie, she was five. Next to her is Robbie, he was eight. And the last there is Brian. He was eleven. He would have started Kaaterskill that fall."

Ethan looked at the pictures of the Sturtevant family, smiling and full of life, but all the time a voice in his head kept saying "Dead! All dead!" As he looked over at Kenny, he saw a teary-eyed, subdued boy, not the wise proctor or strong, swift Chaser he'd come to know. And for the first time, Ethan understood the desperation his own parents must have felt when they decided to flee the magic world. _When they brought me into the world, they didn't want me to end up an orphan_, he said to himself. _They didn't want me to go through what Kenny's gone through_.

"Even though I only know them as pictures, I miss them every day," Kenny said in a near whisper. "And some day, I will make someone pay for what happened to them. But for now, I'll try and help you any way I can, 'cause I know that whoever is after that talisman--even if it is a teacher--is on Voldemort's side. There, I said it!"

"Well, we might need your help soon," Ethan said, taking the opportunity to return to his original concern. "But what do you think we should do?"

"You need to go to Flyte and tell him exactly what you've told me," Kenny told him. "Tell him everything. Chances are he knows most of it already, but just go ahead anyway. He may have reason to trust Tiverton, but I don't think he'll dismiss you without hearing you out."

"OK, as soon as Tim and Anne get back, we'll go to see Flyte," Ethan agreed.

"I'd go with you myself," Kenny told him. "But I'll be in the end-of-term proctors' meeting. Let me know how it goes!"

With that, they returned to the common room. Ethan spotted Anne and Tim across the room. He headed over and found them discussing the exam.

"I'm sure I didn't get all the reasons why the Southern Sorcerers' Society was willing to give up enslaving house elves," Tim said, still looking anxious. "And I didn't even need to know about the 52 unsuccessful solo attempts to cross the Atlantic by broom."

"Will you stop?" Anne asked. "I've already sat through the exam once. I really don't want to replay it! Oh, hi, Ethan!"

"Hi!" Ethan said, adding in a conspiratorial whisper, "If you're done talking about the exam, I'll tell you what I heard on the way back."

The others listened eagerly to Ethan's report.

After he'd finished, Anne asked, "Well, what do you want to do about it, Ethan?"

Before Ethan could answer, Tim broke in.

"If Kenny thinks we should tell Flyte, let's do it!"

"Well?" Anne asked, looking at Ethan. "You're not so sure?"

"Well, what if he doesn't believe us?" Ethan wondered. "We'll just have to give up!"

"But surely he _will_ believe us!" Anne said hopefully.

"Yeah, and besides, Flyte's responsible for everything that goes on around here," Tim added. "He ought to be told."

Ethan nodded.

"Well, you're the only one who knows where Flyte's office is," Anne reminded Ethan. "So lead the way!"

Off they went, through the portrait hole, back to the second floor corridor near the library. The halls were nearly empty; most students were either lounging around their dorms or out on the grounds.

When they reached the statue of the rakish wizard, Ethan shouted "_Spring Surprise_!" and waited. But no door appeared.

"Maybe he changed the password," Anne suggested.

"Yeah," Ethan said, not sure what to do next.

Just then Professor Bancroft turned into the corridor, humming to himself. When he saw the three of them, he arched an eyebrow and asked, "What are you doing inside? Can I help you with something?"

"We need to see Professor Flyte," Ethan burst out. "It's important..."

"If you have a complaint about an exam, or need some advice about arrangements for your return home, I'm sure I can assist," Bancroft said. "Besides, the headmaster is not here at present."

"Not here?" Ethan, Anne and Tim all asked simultaneously.

"No, he was called to an urgent meeting with the Secretary of Magic in the city," Bancroft explained. "You students may not be aware of it, but Professor Flyte has many responsibilities outside school. He's one of the most important wizards in the country, after all."

Ethan decided to throw caution to the wind.

"It's about the talisman my parents brought back from Table Mountain. We think Tiv--um, we think someone's trying to steal it."

Bancroft's demeanor changed abruptly.

"I've no idea how you learned about the Talisman," he said, sounding startled. "But I assure you that it's quite secure. Furthermore, it's none of your concern as students. Not even for you, Mr. Lloyd."

"But we're certain that it's in danger of being stolen soon," Anne asserted.

"It's none of your business, Miss Findlay," Bancroft repeated testily. "The headmaster has made all necessary arrangements for its protection. You needn't worry about it. Now, I suggest that you three go outside and enjoy the rest of this fine mountain day!"

They indeed did head out onto the broad portico, which was fairly teeming with students delighted to be freed from their studies until fall.

Ethan spotted three chairs near one end of the portico and flopped into the middle one. Tim and Anne took the chairs on either side. Ethan looked out across the valley. He was sure he could see a hundred miles in the clear summer light. But his mind was still inside Kaaterskill, focused on the door that led to the Sphinx.

"I still don't see why he needs Skryme's help," Anne whispered. "Is Skryme some sort of riddle expert?"

"I don't think it's the Sphinx Tiverton wants help with anymore," Ethan said as Tim turned his chair towards the others so he could listen. "Skryme probably contributed some sort of enchantment to help guard the talisman. Maybe that's the last one Tiverton needs to crack."

"But you think Skryme just told Tiverton what he needs to know?" Tim asked, idly flipping the pages of his History of Magic notebook.

"It sure sounded like it," Ethan said. "I think he's going tonight. And with Flyte out of the way, the timing will be perfect!"

"I'll just bet Tiverton sent Flyte that owl," Anne said.

As soon as the words had left Anne's lips, Ethan's eyes widened in shock, for Terence Tiverton had emerged from a nearby doorway to eye them suspiciously.

Ethan quickly pulled a book from his pack and joined Tim in pretending to study. Anne took the hint and grabbed her potions text just as Tiverton swooped down on them.

"A bit late for last minute cramming, aren't you?" Tiverton asked tartly. "Shouldn't you be dozing in the sun or playing by the pond?"

"Ah, we were...I mean...just getting ready for next term," Tim said lamely.

"Admirable that three first-year Bradburys such as you are so devoted to learning," Tiverton responded smoothly. He added in a lower voice, "The way you're acting, people will think you're plotting something. I'd be a bit more careful if I were you. And Mr. Lloyd, any more roaming in the halls after curfew and I will see to it that you are sent back to Wisconsin for good! Good day to you!"

He swept off down the portico, leaving Ethan, Anne and Tim shaking and pale.

"Let's go for a walk," Tim suggested and they headed towards the opposite end of the portico, down the stairs and out onto the grounds. There were knots of students lounging about on the lake shore and off towards the quidditch pitch, but no one was within earshot.

"Well that settles it, then," Ethan said, taking a deep breath. "If he's going in tonight, that means I'll have to go after him."

"You aren't serious!" Tim said. "You heard Bancroft and Tiverton. They're both looking for an excuse to kick you out already."

"Back in the fall, I would have worried about that," Ethan replied. "Back then I didn't know anything about Hafgan or the monster he wants to unleash. But what difference does school make when Voldemort and Hafgan are back? They're not going to spare me just 'cause I got a good grade in Potions! They killed Kenny's family just for the sake of killing. My parents went into hiding to help keep the talisman hidden. If I just let Tiverton waltz in and steal it, their sacrifice will go to waste! If some teacher catches me before I get to the talisman, I'll go back to Madison and when Hafgan comes to get us, we'll put up a good fight. And if the Sphinx or Tiverton get me first, at least I'll know I was trying to do the right thing!"

Anne and Tim looked at each other. Ethan wondered whether they thought him mad.

"He means it all right, Tim," Anne said. "And you're right, Ethan."

"I'll take the amulet," Ethan said. "That'll give me a bit of an edge at the start."

"Well, we know that works on at least three people at once," Anne noted.

"Three people?" Ethan asked. "What are you talking about?"

"You don't really think we're letting you go in there alone," Tim said.

"Besides you'll need help getting past all the obstacles they've put in your way," Anne added.

"But if we get caught, you'll get kicked out too!" Ethan protested.

"Yeah, but like Anne said, you're right, Ethan!" Tim told him. "It's a risk I'm willing to take."

"OK, that's decided, then," Anne declared. "Now, all we have to do is figure out how to get out of the common room."

"And past the Sphinx," Tim added anxiously.

"I reckon we'll just have to figure that out if we get that far," Ethan said. "I think we need to tell Marcus and Kenny what we're doing. And I think we need one more person with us. Whether or not we get in, I want to get a message back here."

"Do you really think we can get the amulet around a fourth person?" Tim asked.

"Well, I have no idea how we got it around three of us--or even two, for that matter," Ethan said. "So I think it will work, if the person's not too big."

"That eliminates Kenny and Marcus, then," Anne surmised.

"No, but the person I have in mind is much smaller than them."

"There aren't any _Jo-Ge-Oh_ around, are there?" Tim asked.

"No, of course not! I mean Peter."

Tim's face darkened.

"You don't really mean to take him along with us again?"

"Yeah, I do," Ethan declared. "He's learned his lesson, I'm sure of it."

"But Ethan," Anne objected. "Even if we're sure Peter won't turn us in, are you sure he's not going to turn around and run at the first sign of trouble."

"Well, I'm not especially brave, either," Ethan replied. "I just know that I need to do this. The dowsing rod put Peter in Bradbury, too. If he agrees to help, I trust him to see it through."

Back at Bradbury Tower before dinner, Tim sought out Marcus, Anne talked to Kenny and Ethan pulled Peter aside.

When he'd explained to Peter what needed to be done, Ethan was encouraged by Peter's response.

"OK, Ethan, I'll go along," Peter said immediately. "If you really needed me to, I'd go further."

"Thanks, Peter. But what I really need is someone reliable to bring news--whatever it may be--back to Marcus and Kenny. We'll leave as soon as the common room empties out tonight."

Anne and Tim joined Ethan a few minutes later with their reports.

"Kenny'll stay up with us and help make sure everyone's gone to bed," said Anne. "Then he'll keep watch with Marcus and wait for us--or at least for Peter's report."

"When I told Marcus what was up, he wanted to go with us," Tim related. "But he's OK with staying if that's what we need."

"Where was he after the exam?" Anne asked.

"He wouldn't say exactly, but he and Kyle were buying something off a couple of 6th years. My guess is fireworks or something else on the prohibited list," Tim explained. "I hope we get back in time to find out!"

Dinner proved a tense affair. Ethan wasn't really hungry, though Kenny and Tim urged him to eat.

"You're going to need your strength," Tim said, as he downed a mince tart in two bites.

After dinner, Ethan went up to the dorm and retrieved the amulet from his trunk. As he stuffed it in his pocket, his eye caught the well-wrapped bottle of _Virtus Virtutis_. On the spur of the moment, he pocketed that as well.

With no need to study, the Bradbury students proved a gregarious group that night. Many stayed up late playing chess and Exploding Snap, speculating about the Closing Feast, and making summer plans.

By the time Kenny chased the last few merrymakers upstairs, it was nearly eleven-thirty. But at last, just the six conspirators remained, illuminated only by the dying firelight. They hadn't spoken much over the course of the evening, though each had contemplated what lay ahead.

For his part, Ethan found himself surprised that the others had not only taken him seriously but were now looking to him for direction. He'd played over their last nighttime misadventure in his mind. He realized how careless he'd been and how easily he'd been distracted. He vowed to himself that he wouldn't repeat those mistakes. Now he knew he was as ready as he could be.

"OK, let's go," he said. As if on cue, Tim and Anne jumped up, followed by Peter, who bore little resemblance to his fearful former self.

As they gathered near the door, Ethan took out the amulet. This was the first test, he thought. Would the chain really fit around all four of them?

He took one end of the chain, and then passed the other end to Tim, who passed it to Anne. As Anne turned to give it to Peter, there was a noise at the top of stairs to the boys' dorms. All eyes turned and saw a tall figure come into view. It was Cam Trumbull, the 7th year proctor, yawning as he slowly descended the stairs.

"Quick, Peter, take the chain!" Anne whispered. Peter's short arms barely reached the end of the chain. But he took hold and pulled it over his head.

"Let it down _now_!" Ethan hissed.

As they did, they could tell from the expression on Marcus' face that they'd disappeared from sight, just in time.

Cam spoke.

"Oh, hi, Sturtevant! What's up? I could have sworn I heard a bunch of people still down here."

"It's just Gibson, Cam. I'm sending him to bed now."

"Good then!" Cam replied with another big yawn. "I'll say goodnight again!"

"'Night, Cam," Kenny said. Cam's muffled footsteps faded away up the stairs.

"OK, Marcus, we're ready," the now invisible Ethan whispered.

Marcus opened the portrait hole and the four of them awkwardly crossed into the hall.

"Good luck!" Marcus and Kenny called after them.

The door shut and off they went. The Dutchman was sound asleep. Goody Cloyse passed over them as they descended the Disconcerting Stair, but she seemed not to notice them.

It was a much smoother trip than the last, aside from the fact that it was harder for the four of them to walk with the amulet's chain tying them together.

Eventually they passed the sinister wizard's statue and stood before the door to the Sphinx, still marked with the rune and the sentence that had caught Ethan's eye the last time.

"Ready for a riddle?" he asked, attempting a smile.

"Ethan," Tim said. "Have you considered that with the amulet we may be able to get by the Sphinx without answering?"

"We can try," Ethan replied. "Maybe it'll work."

Ethan looked at the others. All wore serious looks, almost solemn. No one looked scared.

Ethan took out his wand, slipped the chain over his head for just a moment. _Alohomora_! He said firmly. The latch clicked. He quickly put the chain back on and opened the door.

They stepped in as quietly as possible. The Sphinx was sitting as still as a statue. Ethan wondered if it was asleep. But as the door closed, he saw the creature's bright eyes look straight at them. Its large tail twitched excitedly.

Ethan gestured to the others to head along the wall on the left side towards the door. As they did so, the Sphinx let out a low, menacing growl.

"You're not playing fair!" the Sphinx said. "Think I can't see you, you do! Wrong-o!"

The Sphinx sharpened its claws on the floor as it spoke.

Ethan shrugged and took off the amulet. The others slipped out from under the chain.

"Just an oversight, Mr. Sphinx, sir," he said, aware that his voice was squeaking, a bit like Peter's. "No harm intended."

"I remember you, yes," the Sphinx replied. "Weren't in a riddling mood the first time you were here."

"Well, sir, we'd like to try your riddle, if it's no trouble," Ethan said, trying to sound polite.

"Trouble? Certainly not," the Sphinx answered. "Riddling always works up an appetite, I've found. Are you ready, then?"

"Yes, sir."

The Sphinx sat up on its haunches and recited.

_To begin find a hound that _

_is frequently black,_

_Or a place where experiments _

_are kept well on track._

_Add the end of the highway,_

_the start of each year._

_Then the start of a roadway,_

_the end of your fear._

_When you are not out,_

_chances are that you're here,_

_To the end of begin_

_You should probably steer._

_Last add that which is in_

_both north and south._

_Join all these together_

_and speak with your mouth,_

_and if you speak truly,_

_I shall not attack._

_But if you guess wrong then_

_it's time for my snack._

Ethan stared at the Sphinx, and then turned to look at the others.

"Did you catch all of that?" he asked them. They shook their heads.

Ethan turned back to the Sphinx and asked "Could you repeat that, please?"

The Sphinx nodded ever so slightly and repeated the rhyme. The four students huddled to confer.

"The Grim's a black dog," Anne suggested.

"But what's that got to do with experiments?" Tim objected.

"What are ex-perrymints, anyway?" Anne asked.

Ethan and Tim rolled their eyes.

"Something muggle scientists do," Ethan explained.

Anne and Peter looked bewildered. But Ethan had just realized he knew the answer.

"Lab!" he said excitedly, then added to the Sphinx, "that's not our answer--yet! What was the next bit?"

The sphinx repeated the next stanza.

"So it's at the end of a road and the start of the year?" Ethan thought out loud. "I don't get it."

"'Y'!" Peter piped up.

"Why?" Ethan responded. "Because it's in the riddle, that's why!"

"No, the letter 'Y', Ethan!" Peter persisted. "The last letter of 'roadway' and the first of the word 'year'!"

"So that's Lab-y?" Anne asked doubtfully.

But Tim was on to the next clue.

"And the first letter of roadway is 'r', just like the last letter of 'fear'!" he said.

"And if you're not out, you're..." Anne began.

"Safe!" Ethan exclaimed.

"Nah, keep it simple, Ethan," Tim demurred. "In! It's at the end of 'begin', too!"

"OK, I think I've got the idea at last," Ethan said. "And 'th' is in both 'north' and 'south', which gives us..."

"Lab-y-r-in-th," Tim concluded. "The answer's 'labyrinth', Ethan!"

"Everyone sure of that?" Ethan asked. The others nodded in agreement.

He turned once again to the Sphinx and cleared his throat.

"The answer to the riddle is _labyrinth_, sir!" he said firmly.

The Sphinx gave Ethan another long stare, its demeanor as inscrutable as ever.

"You are correct," it finally said. "You are free to pass through the door yonder. And if you survive what lies beyond, you are free to return whence you came."

"Well done, Ethan!" Anne exclaimed with a sigh of relief. "Let's go on then!"

"OK, then. Peter, take the amulet. We won't need it anymore."

Ethan gathered the amulet and its chain into his right hand and put it into Peter's hand.

"Use it to get back to Bradbury Tower," Ethan told him. "Tell Kenny and Marcus we've gone in; and send an owl to Flyte. We probably don't have much of a chance by ourselves."

Peter looked at them solemnly.

"Don't worry, I'll do it," he said. "But you three...just be careful."

Peter slipped the amulet over his head and vanished. The door to the hall opened. When it shut again a moment later, the others knew Peter had gone.

"Now, let's go!" Ethan said, leading the way past the Sphinx toward the little door at the end of the room. The ceiling was so low that Tim and Anne had to stoop. Ethan was just able to stand up straight.

"Here goes," Ethan said as he turned the handle and opened the door.

They came out into a dark hallway, lit by a single torch on the wall to their right. The walls were made of a sort of dark, smooth stone. The ceilings, though low, were high enough so that Anne and Tim could straighten up again.

They lit their wand tips and looked around.

"Looks like there's just one way to go from here," Ethan said, pointing ahead where the hall took a sharp left turn.

So they marched off, treading warily along the hall. The passage was completely unadorned. They found that the floors and ceilings were made of the same material as the walls. They were glad of the light their wands emitted, for the flickering light from widely-spaced torches did little to illuminate their path.

Once they'd made the initial left turn, the passage seemed to gradually curve back upon itself. After about fifteen minutes, the passage widened and they found themselves in a sort of a small chamber.

"Nothing here," Ethan said after examining the whole room by wand light.

"Looks like it keeps going," Tim observed, pointing to another left turn ahead.

So they continued. The hall narrowed and began curving to the left. After what seemed like ages, they thought they'd reached a dead end, only to find a hairpin turn that sent them back in the direction from which they'd come, curving to the right.

A few minutes past the hairpin, Tim stopped with a sudden look of comprehension.

"That's it!" he exclaimed.

"What's it?" Ethan asked.

"_We're_ in a labyrinth, Ethan," Tim answered. "That's why we keep turning back on ourselves."

"So that's what the riddle meant," Anne said.

"Um, Tim, do you know the story of the labyrinth?" Ethan asked, remembering something he'd read back home.

"Didn't some king build it to keep a monster locked up?" Tim said.

"A monster?" Anne asked with some trepidation.

"Yeah," Ethan said. "I just hope that the only monster in this one was at the beginning. In the story the monster lived in the middle."

They resumed their trek, even more cautiously. Each turn came more quickly than the last now. Finally their passage reached a door, marked with the now familiar rune.

"Looks like the end at last," Anne said.

"Wands ready?" Ethan asked, trying to sound confident. The others nodded. "Let's find out what's on the other side, then."

He turned the knob and slowly opened the door. Tim led the way through the door, which silently swung behind them and clicked shut.

They now stood in a room that looked small until one looked up. The ceiling was so high that they could not see it.

In the torch light, Ethan spied a small trunk on the stone floor, lid open. Otherwise the room appeared empty.

"There's nothing here," he said. "Let's just go across and try the next door."

As they took their first step, something rattled in the trunk. Tim stepped towards it. There was a loud _crack_. The next moment Tim let out a great sob.

"Dad!" he cried.

Next to the trunk, where there had been nothing a moment before, Ethan now saw the sprawled body of a brawny man in overalls, plainly dead, vacant eyes turned upwards.

Tim collapsed to his knees, weeping, and covered his eyes.

Ethan looked grimly at Anne, who looked terribly scared.

"How could they do it? What's he doing here?" Tim gasped between sobs.

Suddenly another _crack_ echoed through the room and the body disappeared, only to be replaced by three others, two young boys and a girl, all lifeless. Blood trickled from the girl's mouth, one of the boys had a terrible wound on his neck.

Tim reopened his eyes.

"No! Not them too! Will, Steven, Peggy?"

Ethan stepped over to Tim, not sure what to say or do. As he stood between his friend and the bodies of his brothers and sister, there was another _crack!_ They were replaced by a sight that froze Ethan's blood. Towering over them was a gigantic figure made of flame wreathed in flickering shadows.

"It can't be!" he said as he felt an insane anger rising inside. But there was no denying that it was the creature unleashed so many years earlier from beneath Table Mountain. "It's all hopeless, then. We've lost."

Before he could say another word, Ethan saw Anne jump between him and the creature.

"No, Anne, don't go near it!" he yelled.

But she shouted back, "Don't look at it, either of you! Go back to the door! None of it's real! It's a boggart!"

Before this could really sink into Ethan's mind, Anne turned towards the creature. _Crack!_ It disappeared. In its place was an old woman, whose grey hair still carried a hint of red, doubled over with pain, leaning on a walking stick.

"Ugh!" Anne exclaimed, but she managed to turn back to Ethan and Tim. "Come on, do as I say!"

She pulled Tim to his feet and shoved both boys back towards the door they'd entered through.

"That's a boggart?" Tim asked, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. "I didn't know they could seem so real."

"What's a boggart?" Ethan managed to ask as he gaped at the old crone next to the trunk.

"They're shape-shifters," Anne explained. "They take on the appearance of whatever one fears the most. One washed up on our island when I was about six. Dad got rid of it."

"How'd he do it?" Ethan asked.

"There's a spell, but I don't know what it is," Anne answered.

"Well, that won't do us much good then," Tim commented. "How do I get by it without killing off the rest of my family? I'm telling you there's no way I can just walk by with their bodies just lying here."

They stood in silence for a moment

Ethan suddenly clapped a hand to the side of his head.

"Of course! Why didn't I think of it before?"

"Think of what, Ethan?" Anne asked. "Do you know the anti-boggart spell?"

"No, but something just as good," he replied, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a sock. "At least, I hope so."

He unrolled the sock, reached into it and pulled out a potion vial.

"_Virtus Virtutis_!" he said. "I'd forgotten I had it along. It's supposed to work against any fear you can name. If the boggart turns into your worst fear, this could counteract it."

"There's not too much there," Tim said.

"Crockett said a little goes a long way," Ethan recalled. "A teaspoon lasts a day, I think."

"Oh, drat! I've forgotten my measuring spoons," Anne said facetiously.

"Come on, we'll just guess," Ethan told her. "Just take a few sips. We shouldn't be here for 24 hours, I hope!"

He unstoppered the bottle and took a sip. It didn't taste bad; actually it had almost no taste at all, just a slight hint of lemon. The potion radiated warmth from his throat through his whole body. Ethan took two more sips and passed the bottle to Tim.

Anne and Tim looked at Ethan intently.

"Well, he hasn't dropped dead," Anne remarked. "Can't see any change at all."

Tim put the bottle to his lips and took one long sip. Then he gave the bottle to Anne, who followed suit.

"There, put the stopper back on," she said as she handed the bottle back to Ethan. "If this works, we may need it again sometime."

"Let's find out then," Tim said. He walked across the room. As he reached the trunk, _crack_! The old woman vanished, replaced by the corpse of a blonde, middle-aged woman in a checked apron and jeans.

Tim stopped in his tracks.

"Mom, no!"

"Get back here, Tim!" Anne shouted. But he was shaking violently, apparently unable to move. "We have to get him," Anne told Ethan. "Try not to look at the boggart!"

They ran towards Tim, shielding their eyes. Then they turned Tim around and dragged him back to where they'd started.

"It didn't work!" Tim gasped.

"But Crockett and Renfro said it would!" Ethan protested, trying to think. "Wait! They said it would work against any fear you can _name_."

"So you think we have to name the fear out loud?"

"I don't know what else to try," Ethan said.

"OK," said Tim shakily. "I'm afraid my family's going to be killed because of me, because of what I am."

Then he turned back towards his mother's body. As he neared it, crack! There was his father's body again.

Tim didn't stop until he'd reached the other door. He turned to the others, still looking grim. But he gave a quick thumbs up.

"I'll go next," Anne said. "I fear...I fear that I'll become old and helpless without ever having any adventures or accomplishing anything."

As she went past the boggart, the old woman reappeared, this time in an old wooden wheelchair. With a look of distaste, she walked on and joined Tim.

Ethan looked across the room at them for a moment, and then spoke.

"What I fear is the creature from Table Mountain and the way it makes me feel," he said.

He walked across the room. The monster of flame and shadow towered over the room again. Ethan kept his eyes on Tim and Anne and walked on by with only a slight twinge of anger.

"Whew!" Tim sighed. "Thank goodness that's over."

"Thank goodness Ethan paid attention in potions practical!" Anne added.

Ethan grasped the doorknob and turned it. This door opened easily and they stepped through.

"Look out!" Tim shouted and he threw his arms out to hold the others back. It was dark, but as Ethan's eyes adjusted he saw that they were on a narrow ledge. The room was circular and the ledge ran all the way around it. The ceiling was very high, maybe forty or fifty feet; a few torches hung irregularly from the rough stone walls. Ethan could see no doorway save the one they'd just passed through.

He looked down and caught his breath. There was a sheer drop from the ledge that Ethan guessed must have been nearly one-hundred feet. Below that the walls of the chasm formed a cone, at the bottom of which was a small rectangular opening.

"Looks like that's the only way out," he said, pointing down. But his thoughts were interrupted by a hissing sound and a sense that something was moving towards him over the abyss.

"Watch it!" he yelled. He and Tim jumped one way and Anne the other, just in time. A huge metal disc swept between Ethan and Anne, almost touching the wall before it swung back in the opposite direction. It passed a few inches from Ethan's face. He felt the breeze from its passing and saw that its edges were as sharp as a razor.

"What was that?" he gasped.

"It's a pendulum," Tim said, pointing up. Ethan looked and now he could see a huge brass rod extending from the ceiling, the disc at its bottom. As it swung slowly toward the other side of the room, they had some time to consider their predicament.

"Could we just slide straight down?" Anne asked.

"It's too far," Tim said. "And those stones are pretty rough."

"Let's go around to that side," Ethan suggested, pointing to his left. "Away from that pendulum."

But as they moved carefully along the precipice, Ethan was confounded to discover that the pendulum's plane was changing to match their movements. Once again the knife-edged disc was nearly upon them.

"Heads up!" he shouted, just in time for Tim to jump out of the way of the blade.

"We'd best keep our eyes on that," he said, looking at the disc retreat across the room.

"Anyone have any ideas on how to get out of here, before that thing comes back at us again?" Anne asked as they began moving again.

"Aside from closing our eyes and jumping?" Ethan asked. He'd really begun to wonder whether their journey was destined to end here in the center of the labyrinth.

"Hullo!" Tim exclaimed. "What's that on the wall over there?"

He pointed to a spot nearly opposite the door through which they'd entered the room.

Ethan shook his head. "Are those...?"

"Broomsticks!" Anne interjected.

Indeed there attached to the wall was a rack that appeared to hold three broomsticks.

They hurried to reach the rack before the pendulum swung back to their side again.

"These might work!" Anne said, eagerly grasping one of the brooms.

"This is too simple," Tim said doubtfully as he and Ethan took the other brooms, then backed away as the disc swept towards them.

"Don't count on it," Ethan said.

"Oh, come on, Tim! You made the quidditch team your first year!" Anne admonished him.

"Let's go, then!" Tim said as he kicked off the precipice. Ethan and Anne followed a moment later.

For the first few seconds, Ethan simply felt relieved to be freed from the narrow shelf around the wall. But almost immediately he saw that the others were having difficulty controlling their brooms.

He soon saw--or rather felt--why this was. The cylindrical room seemed to have a number of different vertical air currents, which took turns trying to toss them up towards the ceiling or down onto the stones below.

Further there was the matter of the pendulum, which again seemed to adjust its movements to their use of brooms. As Tim reached the center of the room, an air current sent him upwards just as the pendulum's disc swung towards him. He was able to veer out of the way just in time, spiraling above the blade and around the brass rod.

"I'm going to corkscrew down along the walls!" he shouted to Ethan and Anne. "See how it works before you follow me!"

"Be careful!" Ethan called back, struggling to fight an upward gust. Tim just waved and began zooming down, following the curve of the walls. He passed below the reach of the pendulum and kept spiraling down.

Anne and Ethan hovered, ready to follow Tim down to the chute. He was almost there.

"He's going too fast!" Anne cried. "Slow down!"

But it was too late. A downward blast of air knocked Tim off his broom about ten feet from the bottom of the cone. The broomstick clattered against the stone. Tim hurtled down towards the opening and nearly went through. At the last second his left leg caught and twisted on the edge of the opening.

Ethan heard a terrible cry of pain and watched Tim's leg give way and disappear through the chute below.

He had no time to think about it as the pendulum was swinging towards him again.

He tried to evade it, but a wind current threw him sideways against it. Fortunately he slammed against the flat side of the disc rather than the sharp edge.

He was dazed, the odor of the cold metal in his nose, but he managed to get his broom clear of the sweeping pendulum.

Anne zoomed to his side.

"Come on Ethan! You've got to go the same way Tim did, just be more careful at the bottom!"

The pendulum swung back at them, just missing them again.

"It's getting faster!" Ethan said, alarmed.

"You go! I'll keep that thing busy for awhile," Anne said.

"No, you can't stay up here!"

"Ethan, you're the one who has to save the Talisman! Not Tim, not me! Your parents did it before, now you've got to do it...Now go, please!"

Reluctantly, Ethan steered his broom out along the circular walls and then down in a spiral. He looked up and saw Anne leading the pendulum away from him. Then the blustery air currents took his full attention and he looked up no more. As he neared the bottom of the cone, he concentrated on braking the broom. The wind tried ceaselessly to slam him against the walls or down, but somehow he managed to alight safely next to the chute.

Now he looked up and shouted to Anne.

"Anne, it's OK! Come on down, now!"

A moment later, the disc swung in front of Anne, slicing the front half of her broomstick clean off. Somehow she'd gotten her arms out of the way, but she'd lost control of the broom. It swung crazily around the center of the room for a moment then hurtled downward. Anne hit the stones a few feet away from Ethan with a dreadful thud and slid feet first through the chute, her red hair disappearing last.

Ethan hurried to the opening himself, afraid of what he would find. He peered through and saw that it was a short drop into something like sawdust. He dropped down and found Tim kneeling over Anne's prone figure.

"Is she...?" Ethan asked fearfully.

"She's breathing," Tim said. "Knocked cold, but I don't think anything's broken."

"That's a miracle," Ethan said. "What about you?"

"I would have been fine, except for that last gust of wind," Tim answered, getting slowly to his feet. "But I think my leg' might be broken. There, below the knee."

"Can you go on?" Ethan asked.

"I'll try. But what about Anne?"

"She wanted us to go on no matter what," Ethan said. "If Peter got back OK, someone will be in looking for us soon. And there's nothing we can do for her ourselves, is there?"

Tim shook his head.

"Where do you suppose we are?" he asked.

"Dunno," said Ethan. "We must be miles under the school, though."

There was only one passage leading away from the chute. Tim limped on, grimacing. Leaving Anne unconscious on the floor didn't seem to augur well for the rest of their quest.

So it was that Ethan and Tim found their way cautiously down one more corridor, this one lit dimly with just an occasional torch on the wall.

It was slow going, for Tim couldn't put much weight on his left leg. The hall seemed to slope down and water trickled over the uneven stones. Twice they came upon short flights of stairs, and here Ethan had to help his friend down. After what seemed like miles, the path leveled off.

Just ahead of them, Ethan could see a doorway. Beyond flickered the light of many torches.

Ethan and Tim looked at each other, each wondering what they would face next.

"This could be it," Ethan whispered. "Very slowly, now."

He slipped his wand out of his pocket, and Tim did the same. In truth, neither felt they knew any spells that would help them against Tiverton.

They moved up to the doorway, Ethan to the right, Tim to the left, and looked in.

The room was circular. The half of the wall nearest them was lined with torches. A large gilded mirror hung from the wall a quarter-turn to their left.

Ethan saw that the opposite half of the wall was covered by a large painting, apparently a forested landscape.

One person stood with his back to them, near the opposite side of the room. It wasn't Professor Tiverton.


	18. Hafgan's Servant

_Chapter Eighteen_

_Hafgan's Servant_

The man on the other side of the room was looking intently at the painting. As Ethan gazed across the room, he realized the man's robes shimmered in ever-changing hues. The man held a palette in his left hand.

"What are you doing here?" he blurted out, unable to contain his confusion. "It shouldn't...it _can't_ be you...Tiverton."

Tim's face had gone white as a sheet, though it was hard to tell whether this was due more to pain or fear.

Roscoe Skryme turned towards the boys and set down the palette.

"Ethan, do come in," the painting professor said with a small smile. "I wondered how long it would take you to arrive. As it happens, you're just in time. And Mr. Van der Meulen, tagging along as usual. I suppose I should have expected that."

"But...Tiverton," Ethan stumbled over the words. "It was...he's trying to steal the..."

"Tiverton trying to steal the talisman?" Skryme continued, his grin widening. "What a rich thought! Tiverton's been trying to protect the talisman, my dear boy. Says he owes it to Flyte for letting him come back after his European misadventure."

"But he tried to bully you into helping him answer the riddle," Ethan insisted, still disbelieving.

"Ah, you did hear our little exchange, excellent," Skryme said, his eyes alight. "I saw you heading up to the owl roost and I hoped you might hear Terence playing bad cop with me. By then he was onto me. Even a Sasquatch loose on the grounds didn't keep him from shadowing me. After Halloween he rarely let me out of his sight, even when his own house was playing Quidditch."

"But he tried to get past the Sphinx that day," Ethan objected. "And he nearly killed me."

"No, Ethan, no, _I_ nearly killed you, after the Sasquatch had failed to do so," Skryme said in an icy voice Ethan had never heard him use before. "Although as things turned out, it was just as well that Tiverton managed to vaporize that statue before it crushed you."

"Tiverton...saved...me?" Ethan repeated, dumbfounded.

"Yes, you're lucky, you're much more valuable alive--for now"

"Valuable? Why?" Ethan asked.

"No need to be hasty, boy," Skryme replied. "All will be revealed soon enough. First, however, I need to deal with Mr. Van der Meulen."

The shock of finding Skryme in this subterranean chamber had driven all thought of Tim from Ethan's mind. He turned to find his friend leaning against the wall, pale and trembling.

"I think he broke his leg back there," Ethan said to Skryme. "Can you help him?"

"Help him?" Skryme laughed. "Perhaps in good time. I'm afraid he's in the way just now."

Skryme raised his wand towards Tim and muttered an incantation. Heavy ropes appeared out of mid air and wrapped themselves around Ethan's friend. Tim lost his balance, tumbled awkwardly to the floor and lay still.

Before Ethan could move a muscle, Skryme repeated the spell. Ethan found his arms bound firmly, though his legs remained free.

Skryme turned his back to Ethan and gazed at the painting.

"The talisman is here in my own painting," he muttered. "Just the sort of thing Flyte would do. Now how do I get it out? If it was a portrait I'd make quick work of it, but I can't _Crucio_ a pine tree."

With a start, Ethan understood.

"It was you! You tortured Tim through his portrait!"

"Yes, you really should better care of your work, Ethan," Skryme answered without looking away from the painting. "You have real talent, but you don't understand the true power of art. You did a fine job with Van der Meulen, even so. His portrait would tell us nothing. Finally, its consciousness splintered irretrievably. I've never seen that happen before."

Ethan's mind was reeling. But he realized he was keeping Skryme from concentrating. If he could just divide the art teacher's attention, maybe help would come in time.

"But Tiverton's seemed to hate me from the day I arrived."

"Oh yes, he does!" said Skryme carelessly. "He's loathed your father since their school days and he sees your father in you. But he doesn't want to kill you."

"But today after exams, I overheard you...he was threatening you, wasn't he?"

Skryme's visage darkened for a moment.

"You must understand, my master is a great wizard, maybe even greater than the Dark Lord himself. He it was who recognized, as I had, the true power of artistic expression. He saw that my gifts could be turned to his high purpose. But I am weak and do not always find it easy to carry out his commands. He does not tolerate delays..."

Skryme shivered and pointed his wand at the painting.

"Reveal your secrets!" he shouted. Nothing happened. "I don't understand! This is _my_ painting, I should see the talisman!"

Ethan searched the expanse of the canvas, wondering whether he could see what Skryme could not. As he did so, someone else spoke.

"Use the gift that has strayed into your path! Use the boy!"

Ethan looked around, startled. There was no one else in the room.

Skryme turned to Ethan.

"Come here, Lloyd!"

Still bound around the arms, Ethan walked toward Skryme.

"Tell me what you see," Skryme demanded. "Where is the talisman?"

"How should I know?" Ethan answered, not knowing the source of his defiance. "It's your painting. I don't see anything but the Woods."

"Curse you and Cyrus Flyte!" Skryme exclaimed.

The other voice sounded again. Ethan was now sure it came from the mirror to his left.

"He _can_ find it, Skryme. Let me speak to him, face to face."

"Look into the mirror, boy!" Skryme said.

Ethan did so unwillingly. He knew what he expected to see: the tall, cloaked figure of Hafgan and his penetrating crimson eyes.

What he actually saw surprised and confused him. This wizard hardly looked evil; in fact, he looked familiar. He was tall and broad-shouldered, blonde hair neatly combed. _His eyes are as green as Tim's_, Ethan thought. _Or Dad's. And that pointed chin..But that can't be_. With a start, Ethan realized that Hafgan looked like a neater, tidier version of Griffin Lloyd.

"Ethan Lloyd," the man in the mirror said. "You see, Hafgan is not as you imagined him. Indeed, there may be many things you misunderstand. And there is much we can learn from one another."

"What would I want to learn from you?" Ethan asked. "What do you want from me?"

"You see, there are already two things you'd like to learn from me," Hafgan said lightly. "My, but you do look uncomfortable. Skryme, dispose of those ropes, please."

Skryme obeyed instantly. With a wave of his wand, he made the ropes vanish. Ethan stretched, feeling the circulation returning to his arms.

"Now that's better, isn't it?" Hafgan said. "Now you must understand, Ethan, I have no desire to harm you. Simply do as I ask and Skryme will release you and your friend."

"I'll never help you!" Ethan shouted. "You're nothing more than a murderer and a thief!"

"Ethan, Ethan, it's a pity you misconstrue my purpose," Hafgan said quietly. "I understand, of course. You have been told that I am just like the Dark Lord. It is true that I have served him, but so have many others who are not evil themselves. Just as not all who have fought him are on the side of good."

"What do you mean?" Ethan asked skeptically.

"I know that for one as young as you, the world may appear to be black and white," Hafgan continued in a soothing tone. "But let me assure you, life is not so clear cut...for wizards or muggles."

"But you...you killed innocent people," Ethan protested. "And you tried to get Voldemort the most powerful weapon he could have."

"So you have been told, I know," Hafgan continued in a pained voice. "Believe me; I know what is like to be accused of horrendous crimes. And in truth, some of my followers did things that I regret."

"But...the weapon...Table Mountain," Ethan stammered. Doubt now filled his mind, even as tried to recall all that he had heard of Hafgan and the battle that had changed his parents' lives.

"But do you not see, Ethan?" Hafgan asked in a kindly voice. "The weapon that the Dark Lord wanted could overthrow him as well as serve him. And I do not now seek the same end that I did those many years ago. People change, Ethan, times change. You are young and you have so little experience in life...and in our world. And your parents...did they not purposely flee the world of magic? And so they do not know how matters have changed since our...encounter."

As Hafgan spoke, his words seemed eminently reasonable to Ethan. All he'd been taught about Voldemort, about the history behind Table Mountain and most of all about Hafgan now seemed unjust and illogical.

"Now I need your help, so that I can make amends. I need you to go into Skryme's painting and retrieve the talisman."

He could do as Hafgan asked, give him the talisman and with it he would vanquish Voldemort. How could he, an eleven-year old, know better what was right than this wise wizard who had been unjustly maligned all these years?

Hafgan seemed to sense Ethan wavering and pressed him.

"Believe me, Ethan, I know how confusing this year must have been for you," he said understandingly. "After all, you come from a family rich in magical powers. Your talents should have been nurtured from birth. Instead you've been deprived of your heritage until now."

"That's true, isn't it?" Ethan thought out loud.

"Yes, you do see," Hafgan continued eagerly. "But it's not too late. I can help you fulfill the promise within you. For Hafgan rewards his friends richly. Serve me and you will learn magic far beyond what they teach at this backwards school; you will be apprenticed to the greatest wizard this land has ever known. And when you reach the fullness of your powers, you shall rule a choice portion of our world, Ethan. Those foolish enough to cross you will rue the day they were born. We can see to that, you and I. They will die begging you for forgiveness, as so many have begged me!"

As quickly as Hafgan's voice had bewitched Ethan, these words broke the spell. Ethan felt as if he'd been jarred from a wonderful dream in which he'd become a wise, all-powerful wizard. Instead his mind now saw the Sturtevant family smiling out of Kenny's photograph and remembered that they'd died at the hands of the wizard before him. Waking was harsh, but Ethan now knew that the dream had been false.

"Cyrus Flyte is the greatest wizard this land has ever known!" he cried. "And I will never treat my enemies like that!"

Wordless rage overtook Hafgan for a moment. As Ethan watched, the dark wizard's face seemed to blur and then change. The sharp chin receded, the green eyes shifted to a red-flecked brown, the sandy hair turned raven-black and the nose became aquiline.

A moment earlier, Hafgan had appeared comfortingly like Ethan's father. With a gasp of recognition, Ethan realized that he knew this Hafgan as well: he was Malcolm Hastings, chatting idly on the _Hoboken Limited_; he was the red-eyed man who had sought Ethan in the vase of the present, the relentless pursuer of Spook Woods, and the tall wizard Ethan had seen atop Table Mountain in the vase of the past.

The dark wizard spoke again and now the soothing tone was replaced by a harsh voice, oozing with contempt.

"Foolish child! I offer you power and knowledge without limit. And you reject it, just as your parents did before you. At least they found refuge with their filthy muggle friends for a handful of years. You, on the other hand, will feel the wrath of Hafgan tonight!"

"Skryme, put him in!" Hafgan ordered. "What he'll not do willingly he shall do under duress."

"Yes, master," Skryme said. "If you are certain...it has been done so infrequently."

"I am confident that you will perform admirably," Hafgan replied. "Surely you do not doubt your abilities?"

"No, of course not," Skryme said with a deferential bow.

"Good! Proceed, then."

Ethan wondered exactly what his captors were discussing, sure that it boded no good. He thought about bolting for the door, but even if he could make it, he would never leave without Tim.

Skryme pointed his wand at Ethan and shouted, "_Inserite Pictura_!"

Ethan was used to seeing the trees and clouds move within paintings. But now he could feel the breeze on his face and hear the calls of night creatures far away. He felt himself being pulled closer and closer to the painting; the room around him was dissolving into a blur. Suddenly he felt his feet leave the ground. The woods loomed closer before him; for just a moment he had the weird sensation that he was standing on the picture frame. Then he pitched forward. The next second his feet hit solid ground, crunching on dry leaves. He shivered as his new surroundings came into focus. He was in the woods now, dwarfed by towering pines.

He could no longer see Hafgan, but he heard the voice within the mirror speak to him.

"Now, Mr. Lloyd, you must find the talisman and find it quickly! I know that you are capable of doing so. If you act swiftly, Hafgan may yet be lenient with you. If not, it will go ill with your friend and, in due time, with you!"

Ethan looked out into the room. He had never felt more helpless in his life. He was alone in Spook Woods or, more precisely, alone in Skryme's painting of the woods. He wondered exactly how realistically the art professor had managed to portray the real forest. How far could he go before he reached its boundaries? How many of the woodland creatures also dwelled within this canvas?

Somehow the Talisman had been placed within the painting as well, but apparently Skryme had not been the one who put it there. _Why would he need me to get it? _Ethan thought_. If he can put me in here and get me out, why couldn't he just slip in himself, pick up the Talisman and be gone?_

_Maybe he wouldn't be able to get out himself_, Ethan answered himself. _Maybe you need someone else to get you out_.

This thought worried Ethan. Even though he'd been made to enter the painting against his will, even though he had no idea _how_ to get himself back out, only now did he truly feel trapped.

Ethan was fairly certain that Skryme would only let him back out if he'd found the Talisman. But where could it be in this wood? How could he possibly find it in the inky blackness that surrounded him? And if he found it deep in the woods, how would he find his way back here to the foreground of the painting?

"Don't waste time, Mr. Lloyd!" Skryme called from out in the room. "The longer you take, the more likely your mudblood friend will learn about the _Cruciatus_ curse in person!"

"I'll do my best, please don't hurt him! I just don't know where to start," Ethan pleaded. He struggled to stifle a sense of panic as he began to look about for a likely place to hide a talisman.

He saw nothing nearby and decided to search further back in the woods. With no real hope of success, he lit his wand tip and moved back amongst the trees. Up into the branches and down to the underbrush he gazed, as the light of the room faded behind him.

Suddenly a howling cry in the distance froze him in his tracks. After his narrow escape in the real Spook Woods, Ethan was quite willing to believe all the stories he'd heard about them.

Silence returned. Ethan found sufficient courage to continue. A few steps further along, his foot caught on something. Ethan toppled over and found himself sprawled over a large tree root, face down in the leaf mold. His glasses nearly came off; his wand skittered across the leaves, tip still aglow.

"Oh-ho!" a voice said lightly somewhere in front of Ethan. "Why is a real boy wandering about this painting?"

Ethan straightened his glasses and saw right before him a tiny, white-haired man.

"Raven Man! What are you doing here?" Ethan asked in amazement, as he retrieved his wand.

"Well, a few months ago I was out one fine, dark evening when I saw something odd over there," Raven Man said, gesturing in the direction of the foreground. "A finely dressed wizard apparently painting on a very large canvas. Something about him bothered me, so I stood very still and watched him. He must have unwittingly included my image in his work. I decided it would be useful to move about his painting and continue my observations. When he cast his finishing spells, I allowed him to give my likeness the power of movement and consciousness."

"I didn't know you could do that," Ethan said. "How did you fool him like that?"

"Ah, it would have been difficult had he simply been painting a portrait," Raven Man told him. "But a landscape...that is tricky indeed. One never knows what creatures may have strayed into the artist's view without registering in his mind. And I am quite sure that your professor allowed a number of unsavory creatures of wood and marsh into his work."

"I think I heard one of them just now," Ethan said with a shiver.

"But, as I asked before, what are you doing in this painting?" Raven Man continued. "You are no painted image brought to life."

Ethan hardly knew where to start. And suddenly the whole story just burst out of him.

"Well, Professor Skryme...it turns out he's been plotting with Hafgan all year to steal the talisman that my parents brought back from Table Mountain way back before I was born. And we--my friends and I--were trying to stop Professor Tiverton from doing that, but we were wrong, it was Skryme. And Flyte somehow hid the talisman in Skryme's painting, but Skryme couldn't get it out. Hafgan thinks I can, I don't know why. And they've got my friend Tim--I think his leg's broken, but Hafgan's going to have Skryme torture him or worse. And I have no idea how to find the talisman...and the one thing in the world I'd give anything to stop is Hafgan getting it. I've seen what it can do and..."

Ethan's voice trailed off. As he'd spoken, the utter futility and foolishness of all his deductions, investigations and schemes hit him all at once. It had all been useless; worse than useless, really.

"And now my only choices are to find the talisman--not that I know how I'll do that in here--or let them hurt Tim," he choked as he said the words. "Or kill him."

"That is certainly much weight to sit on such young shoulders," Raven Man said gently, though Ethan could still see a twinkle in the old _Jo-Ge-Oh_'s eyes.

"Alas, I cannot help with all of your dilemmas," Raven Man continued. "But I will say that sometimes one finds what one seeks simply by looking at one's own feet."

Ethan gave Raven Man a confused look, and then followed the tiny man's gaze down at the tree root that had tripped him.

Caught between two entwined roots was a round stone, dark but translucent. Carved across it was a lightning bolt; a runic inscription ran around the stone's circumference.

"Thanks!" Ethan exclaimed. "It looks like it has been there a long time."

Ethan reached out. As he touched the smooth edge of the stone, a light seemed to flicker within it. He grasped the edge of the stone that protruded from the tree roots and tugged on it. To his surprise, it slid free easily.

"Oh-ho!" said Raven Man. "There, one part of your puzzle is solved."

"But now how do I save Tim without giving them the talisman?" Ethan asked, his momentary feeling of relief swept away by the realization of the power he held in his hand.

"That remains to be seen," Raven Man observed. "I think you will not come to those choices inside this painting."

"I can't get out, I don't know how," Ethan said. "Only Skryme can do that."

"Have you never done magic without knowing how?" Raven Man asked him.

"Well, yes, but that was before I even knew I was a wizard," Ethan answered.

"And now that you do know, you must always learn the incantation and the proper wand movement, eh?" Raven Man said, his eyes twinkling in the dim light. "What _do_ they teach at your school? I must have a talk with Cyrus Flyte one day!"

"You mean I can..."

Raven Man shrugged. "I do not know whether you can. I merely know that there are many kinds of magic in the world and not all require a spell book and a wand."

Ethan thought hard. Of course, he'd done some pretty powerful magic back before he'd owned a wand: he must have apparated back when he'd escaped from the bullies after school and somehow he'd even brought Pete with him. And there was the matter of the light falling at the baseball game.

But how could that help him now, when he didn't even know _how_ he'd done those things in the first place.

With that, Raven Man turned and began to walk further into the woods.

"Wait, please!" Ethan pleaded. "Can't you stay with me a little longer?"

"I would, young one, if it would serve a purpose," Raven Man said. "But you must leave this painting and leave it soon. And I perceive that there is nothing more I can do to assist you. Go well, Ethan Lloyd!"

Raven Man disappeared into the deep woods. Ethan ran his fingers along the smooth stone talisman in his pocket and pondered his next move.

The only thing he could do, he decided, was to go back to the foreground of the painting and try his luck. As he headed towards the light that shone in from the room, he resolved not to simply give himself up.

He saw a large maple to his left near the front of the canvas. He crept behind the tree. He could see into the room from here while remaining hidden himself.

Skryme was pacing before the painting; Hafgan was silent. Ethan looked across the room. Tim, though still slumped against the wall, was conscious and no longer bound with ropes.

This gave Ethan a sliver of hope. How could he do as Raven Man suggested? _Concentrate_! He told himself, remembering Ang Hsu's meditation exercises. He tried to empty his mind of every thought save one--escape from the painting. At first, it seemed impossible. Thoughts and images raced through his head--Anne lying unconscious at the exit from the pendulum room, his mother weeping, the Table Mountain monster, the Sturtevant family photograph. But gradually he banished these visions and he felt strangely calm. One thought filled his mind, the wish--no, the need to escape the painted world in which he was trapped, to be back in the world of stone walls and torches, out in the circular room far below Kaaterskill Academy.

In his mind's eye, Ethan saw himself racing across that room, grabbing Tim and dashing up the hallway.

_Don't get ahead of yourself!_ He thought, turning back to the need to get out of the painting.

Finally, with no warning, it happened. The woods around him blurred again. He was lifted off the ground. He was hurtling towards the surface of the painting. The cold night air rushed past him. He saw the frame pass below his feet and then he landed, breathless, on the cold stone floor.

He caught a glimpse of Skryme, who had a look of stunned disbelief on his face. He saw Tim trying to stand up over by the door.

_Now for it_! Ethan thought, the other vision of escape returning. _If we can just get out the door before Skryme reacts_.

"Don't let him escape!" Hafgan yelled from the mirror.

Ethan scrambled to his feet again and started towards the chamber entrance. But Skryme was too fast for him. From behind Ethan heard the painter yell "_Impedimenta_!" The spell hit Ethan square in the back. He immediately froze, unable to move his arms and legs. It was the strangest feeling Ethan had ever known. He felt as if he was watching himself from behind as he keeled over onto his face, hitting the stone floor hard. The impact seemed to reunite his mind and body; excruciating pain shot through his head as he tried to rise. But Skryme tackled him, knocking him back to the floor again.

"Give me the talisman, boy!" Skryme hissed, his hands groping for Ethan's neck.

"Never!" Ethan croaked, thrashing back and forth in a vain attempt to escape. He felt Skryme's left hand tightening its grip on Ethan's throat. He still struggled, but it was hopeless; he could hardly breathe. _So this is how it ends_, he thought as he began to lose consciousness. He seemed to be looking at the chamber entrance, but now it led to a passage of dazzling light.

Someone was yelling, far away.

"Skryme, you fool! I need him alive!"

A terrible scream was the last sensation Ethan knew before slipping into darkness.

Ethan felt the bright light once again bathing his face. He covered his face with his hands, then slowly opened his eyes.

He was no longer in the chamber below the school. The light on his face was the sun, shining in through large, open windows. He was in the most comfortable bed he'd ever slept in. Someone was standing next to him. Ethan realized he was missing his glasses, but squinting he could make out the angular face of Cyrus Flyte looking down at him with a bemused smile.

"Welcome to the Infirmary, Ethan!" Flyte said quietly. "A late greeting, to be sure, but I'm afraid you were in no state to receive it when you arrived."

Ethan looked at him dumbly for a moment. Then everything flooded back into his mind. "But, Professor! Skryme took the Talisman! He and Hafgan...I couldn't stop him!"

Flyte calmly handed Ethan his glasses.

"Don't excite yourself, my boy!" Flyte said, holding up a hand. "Skryme does not have the Talisman."

"But, sir, Hafgan is right here at Kaaterskill...in the mirror!"

"No, Hafgan _was_ here at Kaaterskill," Flyte continued. "I know, I saw him myself. But you are a few days behind."

Ethan leaned up on his elbows and looked around the Infirmary. "How long have I been here? How are Tim and Anne?"

"You've been in Nurse Abernathy's care for nearly four days now. Mister Van der Meulen and Miss Findlay are fine, though I fear they've lost a good deal of sleep watching over you. I sent them off to rest not twenty minutes ago."

"But the Talisman, sir..."

"You may rest your mind on that, Mr. Lloyd. Professor Skryme did not get the Talisman. Neither did Hafgan. I was able to prevent that when I arrived in the chamber."

"Then it was you who got Skryme off of me."

"No, that was not me," Flyte said and the smile left his face. "I was too late to save him."

"What do you mean, save Skryme?" Ethan asked. "All year he's been plotting how to steal the Talisman for Hafgan."

"That is true," Flyte replied. "And yet, in his zeal to finish that mission, he nearly killed you. I thought for a moment he had succeeded. But his master wanted you alive, too, and Roscoe paid for that error with his life. Hafgan destroyed the self-portrait into which Professor Skryme had placed his essence, his very soul if you will, for safe keeping. I forced Hafgan to flee, but it was too late to do anything for Roscoe, the poor miscreant. He failed to understand that Hafgan shows no more mercy towards his servants than he does to his enemies."

"I don't understand, sir," Ethan said. "How could Skryme put his soul into a painting?"

"Roscoe Skryme was the most gifted painter of this century," the headmaster said. "This is one reason why I hired him. I believe he told you students at the start of fall term about the theories of Voldame and others on portraits?"

Ethan suddenly remembered his first day in the painting studio. "He did say that some thought that you could curse a person's portrait."

"Yes," Flyte said. "It seems that Roscoe managed to do exactly that--and quite a bit more. Your friend Mr. Van der Meulen suffered greatly as a result of that experiment."

"Yes!" Ethan exclaimed. "I found out that when Tim thought he was being tortured that night..."

"Professor Skryme and Hafgan were interrogating his portrait," Flyte said with a nod. "Apparently he also saw the possibility that a painting could be a repository for one's soul--that a painter could literally put his soul into art. Thus he thought to cheat death, for if his body were killed, his soul would be out of harm's way. It was careless of Roscoe to leave the portrait in Hafgan's grasp, although he may have had no choice."

Ethan took some time to fathom what Flyte had just told him.

"So you're telling me that Skryme is dead?" he asked. "And that Hafgan saved my life?"

"That would appear to be true," Flyte answered.

"But why?"

"I am not entirely certain," Flyte confessed. "And I probably should not speculate. Suffice it to say that there is something about you that he feels he needs."

"He tried to get me to go over to his side, sir," Ethan told Flyte. "And he didn't seem, or look, the way I'd imagined him."

"Ah, as to appearances, Ethan, there is no harm in telling you that Hafgan is a metamorphmagus."

"A what?"

"A metamorphmagus," Flyte repeated. "It's a rare gift among wizards--the ability to change appearance at will."

"But that's terrible!" Ethan exclaimed. "No wonder nobody could find him for 14 years. How can anyone ever catch up with him?"

"While it is true that Hafgan can appear as he wishes," the headmaster said calmly. "He cannot always maintain that appearance, as I believe you discovered when you declined to join him. His rage undid him."

"Professor, won't he try to get the Talisman some other way?"

"Certainly. That is why the Talisman has been destroyed."

"Destroyed?" Ethan repeated. "Why didn't you do that earlier?"

"Until now, I had always deemed it an unjustifiable risk to attempt the Talisman's destruction," Flyte answered. "I surmised--correctly as it turned out--that strong defenses had been placed around the Talisman by its creators. But I was able to overcome those challenges with the aid of Professor Hsu and Professor Tiverton."

"So it's gone," Ethan said. "But Hafgan's still out there."

"Yes and yes," said Flyte. "Hafgan remains at large, seeking power for himself and his master. So I expect that when he discovers that the Talisman no longer exists, he will try to create another one. But we have set him back considerably, for that process could take years."

"But..." Ethan began.

Flyte interrupted.

"Enough questions for one day! If I remain much longer, Nurse Abernathy will have me ejected for overstimulating her patient. I suggest that you relax and enjoy some of the gifts that have been sent by your admirers."

Ethan looked at the bedside table for the first time. It was laden with chocolates and other candies of all sorts, as well as cards and flowers.

"Admirers?" Ethan asked in amazement.

"Indeed," Flyte continued. "Your encounter with Professor Skryme is a secret known only to a select few, so of course the entire school is talking about it."

Ethan gaped at the goodies and finally reached for a box of Transfigured Toffees.

"I believe that Masters Marcus Gibson and Kyle Stuart attempted to deliver a small box of Dr. McGuffin's Longer-Lasting Indoor Fireworks for your entertainment," the headmaster added. "Apparently Nurse Abernathy felt it unwise to allow them in the Infirmary."

"Sir, can I ask one more thing?" Ethan said as he bit into a small Nimbus broomstick that changed into a chewy toffee in his mouth.

"Just one more, yes."

"How was I able to find the Talisman? I mean, Skryme couldn't find it in his own painting."

"I am glad you asked that," Flyte said. "Indeed, it was one of my finer bits of magic, although, I must confess, not entirely original. You see, the Talisman could only be retrieved by one who wanted to find it to prevent its use. Professor Skryme would never have been able to find it."

Ethan considered this explanation silently for a few moments. The headmaster rose to take his leave.

"Do get some rest, Ethan," he said seriously. "You have had a quite remarkable adventure and we are all anxious for you to be up and about soon. I have exchanged several messages with your parents via owl; it was all I could do to keep them from coming here at once. I did not think that wise. I assured them that we would give you the best care and deliver you safely to them via the train in a few days."

Ethan felt a sudden pang of guilt, for he had been so distracted by exams and the Talisman that he had not communicated with his parents for some weeks.

"Now I must go test some indoor fireworks," Flyte said with a smile. "Purely to determine their safety, of course."

Late that afternoon, Ethan awoke from a pleasant nap to the sound of Nurse Abernathy's scolding voice, just outside the Infirmary door.

"The headmaster wanted you both to rest!" she exclaimed reproachfully. "And Mr. Lloyd needs no more excitement, either!"

"But we did rest, honestly," Tim's voice floated in from the hall.

"And Professor Flyte sent us a note saying that Ethan had woken up," Anne said importantly. "And he said we should come see him."

Ethan reached for his glasses on the night stand and sat up.

"I'm awake! Please let them come in for a bit!"

Abernathy poked her head into the room and gave Ethan a look of deep disapproval.

"You would think I'm attending a social club, not an Infirmary!" she sighed. But she opened the door and waved Anne and Tim into the room.

The two of them practically bounded over to Ethan's bed. Tim beamed at him and shook his hand. Anne gave Ethan a quick hug, looking nearly as embarrassed as she had the day he'd returned from the Woods.

Abernathy retreated to the nurse's office at the far end of the Infirmary, muttering, "Twenty minutes, no more!"

Tim and Anne pulled up chairs alongside Ethan's bed.

"Well, have some chocolate!" Ethan urged them. "I couldn't possibly eat this all by myself!"

"So are you really all right?" Tim asked as he unwrapped a chocolate frog while looking at Ethan seriously.

"Well, I think so," Ethan replied. "I thought you'd be in worse shape than me."

"I've never felt pain like that," Tim said with a grimace. "Not even when they cursed my portrait! And I never want to again. I really thought the leg was a goner. But Abernathy had it back together in about a half hour once they got me in here."

"And what happened to you, Anne?"

"Well, I was only knocked out, you know," she said. "Nothing, really. When I came to, I really had no idea how long I'd been out. But just then along came Flyte and Bancroft. Flyte took one look at me and said, 'Ethan's gone after the Talisman, hasn't he?' I guess I nodded...I don't remember saying anything. And Flyte told Bancroft to get me to the Infirmary and off he went."

"Ethan, what happened to Skryme, anyway?" Tim asked, starting on some goat's milk fudge. "I was trying to stand up when you appeared, but I guess I fainted again from the effort."

"I don't really know," Ethan said slowly. He could say that truthfully, for he still didn't really understand Flyte's explanation. "And I'm not sure I want to know. Once I escaped from the painting, Hafgan was furious with him. The last thing I remember was Skryme trying to choke me. He'd stunned me already and I was about to faint. Just as I lost it, I think he screamed. I don't know any more."

Ethan looked down at his hands. He felt guilty about Skryme's death, though he knew this was completely irrational--after all, the art professor had betrayed his trust and tried to kill him. Ethan wasn't sure he'd ever want to pick up his brushes again.

Another unpleasant matter distracted Ethan's mind from painting.

"Flyte said Hafgan saved my life," he said aloud, but more to himself than to his friends.

"How's that?" Anne asked in disbelief. "Wasn't he trying to kill you?"

"Apparently not," Ethan continued. "Skryme nearly did...not the first time, as it turns out. And Hafgan stopped him from finishing me off. I think that's how Skryme..."

Ethan didn't finish the sentence.

"But why was Hafgan so keen to keep you alive?" Tim said.

Ethan was still too puzzled by Flyte's words to try to explain. Besides, another thought had occurred to him.

"First I find out that Tiverton saved my life," he told the others. "Yours, too, for that matter, Anne. He vaporized that statue himself."

"That must have been hard on him," Anne ventured. "Belonging to his house and all."

"Don't feel too sorry for him," Tim countered. "After all, he blamed it on you and that probably got Tenskwatawa the trophy."

"Now it turns out that Hafgan saved my life," Ethan continued. "I hope I don't owe them anything now. I mean Tiverton's bad enough, but now I've met Hafgan...he's evil right through, I think he might even be worse than You-Know-Who."

Anne tried to change the subject.

"Ethan, do you think Flyte knew all along what we were up to?" she asked. "Did he let you get to the chamber even though he knew Skryme would be there? Did he know Hafgan was here?"

Ethan looked thoughtful. But Tim spoke first.

"He better not have!" he said fervently. "Ethan came that close to dying down there. That's an awful idea."

But Ethan smiled just a bit and said, "I don't know. I think Flyte knows more about me--and you two as well--than we do ourselves. And he seems to have ways of knowing what's going on around Kaaterskill. I think he knew we'd seen the Sphinx and he knew I was Skryme's best student. He had to have known about the amulet and he made sure it got back to me. And after all, who started it all by bringing the talisman here? Maybe Flyte thought it was OK for me to help finish up my parents' business. And he just made sure I knew enough to get by."

"Well, he's crazier than I thought, then," Tim harrumphed, tossing Ethan some jelly slugs.

"Well, he may be a bit mad," Anne conceded. "But it _is_ a good sort of madness! Listen, Ethan, you've got to be out of here by tomorrow night--it's the closing feast!"

"Oh, yeah," Tim said unenthusiastically. "Of course, Tenskwatawa won the Kaaterskill trophy again...we couldn't make up the points, especially since Tituba beat us at quidditch the day after it all happened. East's still not 100 percent and Abernathy wouldn't let me out either..."

"But still, it'll be the best food since the House Assignment," Anne continued, "And Ethan can't miss it!"

"He'll be missing a lot if he doesn't get his rest," Nurse Abernathy interrupted. "Now, you two, out! I've let you have nearly a half-hour."

Left alone again, Ethan fell asleep early and awoke late and refreshed. His appetite had returned; in fact, he felt as though he hadn't eaten in weeks.

For that reason alone, Ethan was eager to attend the closing feast.

"I will be able to go, won't I?" he asked Nurse Abernathy as she examined him after lunch. "I'm feeling just fine now."

"I daresay you think you do," the nurse replied. "In any case, the headmaster feels you should be allowed to attend. But don't blame me, I told him, if it proves too much for your constitution."

"Don't worry, I'll manage!" Ethan exclaimed fervently.

Abernathy did, however, keep Ethan in bed until nearly time for the feast. She gave him a final looking-over, and then released him to Kenny Sturtevant, who'd been sent to escort him down to the already-full Assembly Hall.

There, at the center of the faculty table stood the Kaaterskill Trophy, a gleaming silver cup nearly two feet high with its handles supported by silver unicorns.

The magical ceiling glowed with the light of a fine early summer evening. All around the room hung banners in green and yellow in recognition of Tenskwatawa's retention of the trophy for the seventh consecutive year. A huge banner with a green lizard rampant on a field of gold hung behind the faculty table.

As Kenny ushered Ethan over to the Bradbury table, it seemed the entire room had turned towards them. Fingers pointed their way, eyes stared; the room dissolved into excited chattering. Before Ethan could flop into a seat between Anne and Tim, he'd had his arm pumped vigorously by Cam Trumbull, Danny Dewin and several other upperclassmen he hardly knew.

Marcus and Kyle greeted him from across the table.

"Sorry you missed the fireworks, man!" Marcus said. "I guess you had plenty of excitement yourself, though."

"You could say that," Ethan said, a bit dazed by his reception. "Hey, thanks for getting Flyte and Bancroft down there. That really saved us in the end."

Peter overheard this and gave Marcus a nervous look.

"Well, thanks," Marcus said sheepishly. "But you see...Peter came back just like you wanted. Kenny and I were headed up to the owl roost when Flyte and Bancroft practically ran us over in the hall. Bancroft just ordered us back to the dorm and off they went. Didn't take any house points, though!"

At that, silence fell around the room, for Cyrus Flyte had risen to speak.

"Congratulations are in order," he said. "First, to all of you for another year well-spent absorbing knowledge in our hallowed halls. And I must say, I am happy to see how well you have finished up the term! Next, to those of you who have completed your education within these walls, go well and do not forget old Kaaterskill! We will follow your exploits with keen interest."

"Before we commence consuming what promises to be a fine feast, there is one more item of congratulations. I mean of course that we must recognize the house that has accumulated the most points with the Kaaterskill Trophy. I am informed that the standings are as follows: Bradbury House, 335 points; Harrison House, 365 points; Tituba House, 440 points; and Tenskwatawa House, 495 points."

At this the Tenskwatawas gave a great cheer, banging their silverware on their table enthusiastically. Ethan saw that Katrina Powles and Simon Brocklebank looked particularly pleased with themselves. At the Bradbury table, everyone looked exceedingly glum. Peter Powles had put his head down on the table.

Goody Cloyse was hovering over the table, an annoyed look on her face.

"Dear, I _am_ disappointed with you, I must say," she told them reprovingly. "I believe you promised better last fall!"

At this Anne turned bright red and covered her face with her hands.

"Yes, well done, Tenskwatawa," Flyte continued. "Now as some of you undoubtedly recall, it is the custom for the house masters and the headmaster to award final points at the Closing Feast, lest any especially deserving deeds go unrewarded in our haste to depart for our holidays."

At this everyone quieted down, especially the first-years. At the table of the Prophet's house, even Katrina and Simon looked attentive, though still confident.

"I didn't know they could do that," Ethan said to Kenny.

"Oh, yeah, there are always a few last-minute awards," the proctor told him. "But it's not likely to change anything, unless a Tituba did something really great in the last few days."

"I have just one nomination from a house master, from Professor Crockett," Professor Flyte announced. At that Kenny raised an eyebrow and Ethan crossed his fingers.

"In accordance with his wishes, I award 30 points to Elanor Bernstead in recognition of her efficient policing of the Tituba common room this year as senior proctor."

Cheers went up from the Tituba table, quickly followed by more from the Tenskwatawa students, who had quickly calculated that Elanor's points still left them well ahead of the Sorcerers. The Bradburys looked downcast once again.

Flyte cleared his throat.

"I do have a few final awards of my own to conclude, taking recent events into account, so I beg your indulgence for a few more minutes."

Everyone got quiet at once.

"First to Miss Anne Findlay, for quick thinking and self-sacrifice in dire circumstances, I award fifty points."

The Bradburys finally had something to cheer about. Kenny reached over and thumped Anne on the back. She looked up for a moment, and then covered her eyes again, this time apparently trying to hide tears of joy.

The Harrisons now looked disgruntled, as they realized that Bradbury had crawled past them into third place.

"Secondly, to Mr. Timothy Van der Meulen, for taking the initiative when fortunes seemed bleak and placing loyalty to friends above his own well-being, I award fifty points."

Ethan cheered with the rest of the Bradburys. The sound made the room shake; even the Tenskwatawa banners seemed to be shaken by the reverberation.

"Well done, Mr. Van der Meulen!" Goody Cloyse said as she swooped down near his chair.

"Third to Ethan Lloyd--for exceptional daring, rare concentration and for finding the courage to do what no one else could, I award sixty points."

Bedlam ensued. The Bradburys cheered wildly. Those still calm enough to add realized that they had no pulled exactly even with Tenskwatawa; both houses had four-hundred ninety-five points.

"Couldn't he have given you sixty-one?" Marcus asked.

Flyte raised his hand once again. Silence gradually fell over the room.

"It takes courage to overcome unknown perils," he said. "And yet it takes an equal amount of bravery to face up to fears one has known throughout one's life. In recognition of his success in overcoming a familiar fear, I award ten points to Mr. Peter Powles."

Ethan was sure the explosion that arose from the Bradbury table could be heard in the muggle villages in the valley far below. He stood up with Tim, Anne and the rest to yell and applaud. Peter looked dazed as his house mates mobbed him; he hadn't won Bradbury a single point all year.

"And I believe that means," Flyte concluded over the din, as Tituba and Harrison joined in applauding Tenskwatawa's upset. "We need a change in our display."

He waved his right hand and the lizard behind him disappeared, replaced by a silver mountain lion on a burgundy banner. At the faculty table, Professor Bancroft beamed as he shook hands with Tiverton, who looked like he'd just swallowed a lemon. At the far end of the table, Ethan thought he saw Mr. Beadle grinning--the first time he'd noticed the Keeper smiling in public. Ethan looked away again. His eyes met Tiverton's glare for a moment and he knew that the transfiguration teacher's feelings towards him hadn't improved a bit. For some reason, this didn't bother Ethan. The next moment, he was distracted by Goody Cloyse doing figure-eights around the room in celebration.

Anne nudged Ethan and pointed at the Tenskwatawa table, where Brocklebank looked as if he'd just been made to drink a large dose of a very unpleasant medicine.

It was a magical evening. Ethan basked in the feeling until he could no longer keep his eyes open. And when he finally fell asleep, he replayed the scene in his dreams.

The next day at breakfast the Bradburys were still talking about their stunning reversal of fortune when Professor Bancroft handed each of them their grade reports. Ethan was happy to see that he'd passed with better grades than he'd expected. Tim of course had gotten top marks in all his classes. Anne had done all right, even scraping by in History of Magic.

Soon after breakfast, their trunks were packed, Bucky and Evangeline were in their cages and the wagons waited for them all at the main door. On the way out, Beadle handed each student a note forbidding them to use magic over the holidays.

As Ethan took his note, Beadle looked at him and said quietly, "Now, I know you're not one to take advice, Mr. Lloyd, but do take care not to get yourself into trouble away from school, eh?"

Ethan just nodded and went to get in his wagon. Soon they were rolling down to the Landing, where _Kaaterskill _lay ready to take them down river. Then Ethan, Anne and Tim were standing at the rail, watching the river towns pass by, then seeing the city skyline come into view as the steamboat headed for the Hoboken Terminal. There Anne took her leave, as she would be heading down east while the boys would be boarding the westbound _Hoboken Limited_.

"Be sure to write!" she urged the boys. "Your owls will find me, no problem!"

As the two boys made their way toward the _Limited_'s platform, various others called their farewells.

"'Bye, Ethan!"

"Good summer, Lloyd!"

"Famous again," Tim said with a chuckle.

"Hey, see ya' Van der Meulen!"

"Yo, Tim! Keep in touch!"

"You, too," Ethan said, grinning back at him. "Enjoy it while you can...back home nobody'll know a thing about it."

They enjoyed a pleasant and thoroughly uneventful trip on the _Limited_, eating their fill in the diner, playing chess in the lounge and sleeping late in their berths. So late, in fact, that Ethan was left scrambling to get dressed and have breakfast before the train pulled into Chicago and halted at Platform 99Q.

Before making a hasty exit, Ethan shook hands with Tim.

"It was quite a year," he said. "I want to hear all about your summer."

"Yeah, not that it'll be all that exciting. Then again, I could do with a little less excitement for awhile!"

"You bet!"

And then Ethan was out on the platform. The next moment he'd spotted his father _and_ his mother and then he was buried in a hug with both of them.

"It's been so long!" Diana said, looking him over appraisingly. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"Yeah, mom, I'm fine," he said.

"Looks like you've grown a foot," Griffin added. "So, you've survived your first year, eh?"

"Umm, yeah, Dad, I did!" he answered. "The classes weren't a problem. But the extracurricular activities almost got me!"

Their eyes met and all three of them burst out laughing, although Ethan thought his mother was simultaneously on the verge of tears.

"Well, let's get back home, then!" Griffin said, grabbing Ethan's trunk.

"I can't wait!" Ethan exclaimed. "I've never wanted a nice, quiet vacation more!"

With that, Diana picked up Bucky's cage and the three of them headed off through the magical barrier and back into the muggle world.

_**The End**_

_Ethan's adventures at Kaaterskill continue in his second year, chronicled in **Ethan Lloyd and the Phantom Ship**._


End file.
